Sand and Water
by Maryilee
Summary: Chuck's in L.A., Marissa is visiting her mother, and Gary's left holding the bag, er, the paper. Will he survive?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Meeeoow"

Gary blearily opened his eyes, groaning as he looked at the clock. How could it possibly be six-thirty already? He closed his eyes again...just a few more seconds, he pleaded to the newspaper god. He started to drift back to sleep.

"Mreeow!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming...hold your horses, would ya?" Gary muttered as he flung back the covers and stumbled out of bed towards the door. He cursed as he stubbed his toe on a corner of the coffee table. What a perfect way to start the day, he thought wearily as he opened the door and retrieved the paper.

He hobbled to the sofa and plopped down, flipping through the pages.

"Woman mugged on EL platform..." Gary turned to the next page after noting the time and station where the woman had been mugged. "Three injured in road construction accident..." Gary sighed; he was only a few pages into the paper, and already his morning was fully accounted for. He turned to the Metro section. "Child killed in fall from fifth floor..." He read the details, and then yawning and rubbing the back of his neck, he tossed the paper on to the coffee table and headed for the shower.

* * *

"Hey Marissa," Gary said around a mouthful of bagel. He quickly poured a cup of coffee and took another bite of the bagel. 

"Morning, Gary," Marissa greeted as she made her way towards Gary. Finding the stool across from him, she lifted herself onto the seat.

"Want some coffee?" Gary offered.

"Yes, thank-you," Marissa answered. She opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated, then cocking her head to the side, she asked, "How busy are you with the paper today?"

Gary swallowed the last bite of his breakfast. "It looks pretty hectic. Why? What's up?"

Marissa shook her head, "Don't worry, it's nothing."

Gary glanced at his watch, and took a final sip of coffee as he stood up. "Gotta go. Talk to you later, Marissa." He snatched up the paper and was out the door in the blink of an eye.

"Bye, Gary." Marissa said to the now empty kitchen, her chin resting in her hand.

* * *

Gary rubbed his hands up and down his arms, and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. He had neglected to read the weather report in yesterday's paper, and was now paying the price as he shook the rain from his hair. A cool front had moved through, dumping an inch of rain on the city and dropping the temperature down to a very chilly fifty degrees. His lightweight tan jacket did little to repel the cold rain. 

He blew in his hands and tried to ignore the icy stares from the Cabrini Green residents. It was definitely not the best area of town. Cabrini Green was comprised of several highrise apartment buildings run by the Chicago Housing Authority for low-income families. Most of the people who lived there went about their business of trying to survive, but it wasn't easy in an area that was mainly controlled by gangs.

He had been waiting on the ground next to the building from where the child was going to fall, for about ten minutes. At least he thought it was about ten minutes, he wasn't sure, as his watch had stopped working when it became too wet in the rain. He had tried going in the building in an attempt to prevent the kid from falling, but his path had been blocked by a group of young men. He gulped, and wondered if they were part of a gang. He hoped not and grinned weakly at one of them.

He looked up at the windows, trying to guess from the paper's description of the incident, which one the toddler was going to fall from. Suddenly, he spotted a small head framed in a window about forty feet to the left of where he stood. He dashed as fast as he could to a spot beneath it, his progress slowed by the thick mud clinging to the soles of his shoes. A sudden wail of terror gave Gary another spurt of energy as he watched in horror as the child toppled from the window.

Arms outstretched, Gary made a final lunge when the boy was only about ten feet from the ground.

"Ooomph!" The impact of the kid landing in his arms knocked him to the ground as one little shoe caught him across the bridge of the nose. Stars burst in his vision, but he clung protectively to the child in his arms.

Gary sat up, blinking mud and tears from his eyes. He inspected the child, determining that he was unharmed when suddenly the screaming toddler was pulled from his arms.

"Oh my poor baby!"

Gary was cupping his bloody nose with both hands, and glanced up to see a young woman hugging the child. "Is he awight?" Gary asked, his nose already beginning to swell.

The woman was crying, but nodded, "Yeah, I think so."

By now a crowd had gathered, and someone reached down and grabbed Gary's arm and hauled him to his feet.

"Thaks", Gary said, his voice still muffled from holding his nose. He heard sirens in the background, and tried to make his way through the crowd. He would have made it just fine, as the crowd hurriedly backed out of his way to avoid coming in contact with his mud covered body, but suddenly his knees started shaking.

"Hey man! Take it easy." A young man reached out to steady Gary. "You alright?"

"Uh, yeah. I thik so." Gary mumbled. He felt dizzy, but was too embarrassed to admit it. He shook his head in an effort to clear the fog. A towel was thrust towards him, which Gary accepted gratefully. He tried his best to wipe the blood and mud off his face, wondering if his nose was broken. He winced as he fingered it.

Suddenly, he was swept up into a bear hug, as a woman, crying hysterically, repeatedly thanked him for saving her baby.

Gary tried to extricate himself from the hug. "It was no problem. I was just...well...I just happened to look up--" Gary yelped as her head inadvertently connected lightly with his already battered nose. "...I guess I just got lucky. I gotta...I gotta go." Gary practically shoved the woman away, and beat a hasty retreat.

A few blocks from Cabrini Green, Gary ducked into a McDonalds, drawing disgusted stares from patrons. He hurried to the bathroom and stopped and shook his head as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. No wonder people had wrinkled their noses in disgust, he thought. He was covered head to toe in mud, and his earlier attempts to clean up with the towel had only succeeded in smearing the bloody mess around his face. He wearily turned on the water, and splashed his face.

Five minutes later, Gary studied his reflection. He shrugged, satisfied. He looked slightly better. His clothes were still a mess, but at least his face and hands were clean. He leaned towards the mirror, examining his nose. It had swollen considerably, but didn't appear broken. His stomach growled, interrupting his inspection. He wondered if he had time to grab a burger. With a final swipe at some mud on his clothes, he left the bathroom and headed to the front to order.

A quick glance at the clock behind the counter made Gary swear. Another day with no lunch. He would be lucky to make it to the platform in time to prevent the mugging. He couldn't help thinking that if Chuck had still been here, he would have been able to help out. At least, he could have driven Gary where he needed to go. Sometimes, now that Chuck was gone, Gary would use the McGinty's van, but he usually didn't have time to find parking places. After the third time that it was ticketed and towed, he had abandon using it unless absolutely necessary. With a groan, he hurried from the restaurant and raced to the EL platform.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Gary rubbed his eyes and tried to stifle a yawn. He put his pencil down on the bar, closing the accounts payable book in front of him.

"Hey, Hobson, you look beat. Why don't you go on; I'll finish up here." Crumb said, wiping off the top of the bar.

Gary glanced at his watch, then remembered that it wasn't working, and looked to the clock above the bar instead. One-fifteen A.M. Crumb was right, he was beat. Literally. He had finished every thing he had to do in the paper and had come back to McGinty's around six P.M.; just in time to say good-bye to Marissa as she left for the day. Often she stayed later to help out, but tonight, she had seemed in a hurry to leave. Gary couldn't blame her. God knows, he was lousy company.

"Yo! Hobson! You still awake down there?" Crumb called from the other end of the bar.

Gary started. "Yeah, I'm awake," he mumbled, as he pushed away from the bar, gathering the books to return them to the office. He had taken to doing the books out at the bar late in the evening. With Chuck gone, the office was just too quiet. Suddenly he was overtaken by a yawn he just couldn't stifle.

"Go to bed, kid."

Gary grinned tiredly, "I'm going. You'll lock up?"

Crumb nodded and waved him away, "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Gary thanked him and wearily trudged towards the stairs leading to his apartment. Already, he was dreading the next morning's wake up call.

Crumb finished cleaning the bar, his mind wandering to his peculiar employer. He had noticed Hobson sporting a swollen nose, but hadn't commented on it. Neither had Hobson. Crumb had also heard on the news earlier in the evening, about a child who had fallen out a window being saved by a guy with brown hair. A guy who had fled before being identified. A guy who, according to witnesses, had suffered a bloody nose in the incident.

Crumb shook his head with a wry smile. He'd bet his retirement check that Hobson was the mystery hero.

Sometimes he wondered how the kid knew what he knew. More than once he had come upon the three musketeers, as he privately called the trio of Gary, Chuck and Marissa, huddled together at a table discussing something in hushed whispers, and all three would get quiet when he approached.

He once was tempted to ask Hobson to solve the mystery for him. It was after Hobson and the district attorney had been kidnapped, but when he saw the haunted expression on the kid's face that night, and for several days afterwards, he decided that he didn't want to know. He wanted to keep his life uncomplicated, thank you very much. He was content to just help out in whatever way he could.

* * *

"Morning, Marissa," Gary said, as he pushed through the doors to the kitchen.

Marissa turned a concerned expression towards him, "Do you have a cold, Gary? Your voice sounds funny."

Gary pulled a bowl and a box of cereal out of a cabinet, and set them on the counter before retrieving the milk from the fridge. "No, I don't have a cold. I got whacked in the nose when I caught a little kid who was falling out of a window."

"Oh, I figured that was you. I heard about it on the radio last night. Did you have a doctor check it out?"

"Nah, it's fine. Just a little sore," Gary said, as he dug into his bowl of Cheerios. The paper was spread open before him; once again full of accidents and mishaps that needed his attention.

"Gary?"

"Hmm?" Gary looked up from the paper; something about her tone of voice alerting him that she had something important to say.

Marissa looked uncharacteristically nervous, "I need to ask a favor, Gary."

"Sure. What do you need?"

"I hate to do this to you, but I need to take a few weeks and go see my mother. She's having surgery in two days, and she'll need someone there to help her."

"I hope it isn't anything serious. Will she be okay?"

Marissa swallowed and said quietly, "She's having a mastectomy. They found a cancerous tumor."

"I'm sorry, Marissa." Gary reached across the table and gave Marissa's hand a squeeze. He felt terrible. How ironic, he thought, that he could go out and save perfect strangers, but when someone close to him was hurting, he was powerless do anything about it.

Marissa nodded, "I know, Gary, but don't worry; my mom's a fighter. She's going to beat this. I just hate to go and leave you short of help, but I think my mom really needs me there."

"Well, yeah, of course you have to go. Don't worry about McGinty's. Crumb and I will do just fine."

"Well, it's not only McGinty's I worry about, Gary."

"What do you mean?" Gary quickly took another bite of cereal, not liking where this conversation was heading.

"You, Gary. You run around like the world will collapse if you don't get to everything in the paper. On top of that, you've taken on most of Chuck's old responsibilities."

"For some people, their world will collapse if I don't do what...what I do," Gary said defensively.

Marissa sighed, "I know, Gary, but you can't keep going on like this alone."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry. Just go take care of your mother and tell her I wish her a fast recovery," Gary said, hoping to end the conversation. He quickly finished his cereal and left to do what it was he did.

* * *

"Ow! Dammit!" Gary swore as he cradled his hand protectively. He aimed a kick at the retreating taxi, "You're welcome!" he called sarcastically, garnering strange glances from passersby. Gary examined the hand that the little old lady had slammed in the door; gingerly flexing his fingers. Turning, he walked back onto the sidewalk, cursing the paper, taxis, little old ladies and life in general.

He pulled out the first object of his wrath and with mixed feelings, noted that the article about the eighty-year old woman who had fallen while getting into a taxi, and then being accidentally dragged along the pavement for thirty feet, had disappeared. In its place was an article about the city flushing the fire hydrants.

Gary folded the paper and put it in his back pocket. He had about an hour until he had to be at the next event that needed to be prevented. He ducked into a little hotdog spot on the corner of Hubbard and State Street, and ordered the Chicago dog and a large soft drink.

Finding an empty booth, he sat and began arranging the mass of pickles, tomatoes, onions and relish into a manageable mouthful. It was near the lunch hour, and the streets were filled with office workers on their breaks. As he crunched the hotdog, he absently noted the passers-by. Most people were in pairs or small groups, chatting and laughing as they strolled by the window. Gary took a sip of his drink, trying to recall the last time he had had an actual conversation with someone. Marissa had been at her mother's over a week now. She had phoned a few times and said everything was going well and that it looked like the doctors had gotten all of the cancer. Gary was relieved. At least something was going right. With Marissa gone, the days had passed in a blur. The paper taking up his day and working at McGinty's filling the rest of his waking hours. Of course, Crumb talked to Gary, but both of them had been so busy lately, that their conversations usually went along the lines of:

"You order the ten cases of Guinness?"

"Yeah. How's the new waitress working out?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Gary still brought the books out to the bar every evening, but with Crumb so busy bartending, they didn't get much opportunity to talk. Gary had to admit that he was usually too beat to make conversation anyway what with the paper and the added responsibilities of running McGinty's.

He thought about hiring another manager, but couldn't bring himself to replace Chuck. If he did decide to hire someone in that capacity, he would have offered the position to Crumb--except Crumb wasn't interested.

Crumb had told Gary flat out, when Gary had hinted at the possibility, that he was happy coming in, tending bar and shooting the breeze with the patrons. Anything more than that would be too much like a real job. Something he wanted to avoid, he told Gary, especially after serving over thirty years on the CPD, he just wanted to do something fun. Gary couldn't blame him.

He sighed as he crumpled the hotdog wrapper into a ball, and tossed into the wastebasket. Standing, he stretched then headed out the door. He had places to go; people to save.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Gary lay in bed that night tossing and turning. Though his body was exhausted, he felt restless. He rolled over and saw the time. One A.M. He groaned, dreading another day on only five hours of sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten to bed at a decent hour. Probably sometime before Chuck had left, he mused.

He wondered how Chuck was doing. When his friend had first gone out to California, he had called frequently, his voice excited as he relayed some of the exciting things that had been going on with his fledgling production company. Gary chuckled as he replayed the conversations in his mind.

"Hey Gar! How are ya doin, buddy?"

"Oh man, Gar, you have got to see the women out here. They walk around in bathing suits all day long."

"You're right, Gary, my idea about the guy who gets tomorrow's paper today didn't fly with studio execs, but on the drive out here, I started remembering a dream I had last winter. Remember I told you about that weird dream where I had gone into the future and someone jumped into me, sort of trading place with me? Well, I proposed a show like that to them. Okay, I didn't actually do the proposing. I approached Bellisarius Productions, and talked it over with them, and we got the okay from NBC to go ahead and start pre-production. We're going to call it "Making a Quantum Leap." Isn't that great?"

Gary had almost dropped the phone at the mention of the title. If only Chuck knew.

Gary reached up and turned on the light. He wondered if it would be too late to call Chuck. It would be a little after eleven P.M. on the coast. Gary decided to chance it.

"Hey, Chuck!" Gary said, a smile spreading across his face as he heard the familiar voice.

"Hi Gar. What are you doing up so late? It must be after one o'clock back there. Is something wrong?"

Gary's smile faded slightly, "Uh, no. Nothing's wrong. I was just awake, and got to wondering how you were doing."

"Oh, well, that's good. Hold on a sec-" Gary could hear Chuck yelling to someone in the background to keep it down a bit.

"Sorry, about that, buddy. I've got some people from the production company over here. We're brainstorming ideas for the show."

"No problem." Gary paused, the moment dragging on; becoming awkward. The pause lengthened, until suddenly, both men began speaking at once.

"How's the show coming along?"

"How's the cat?"

Gary's brow furrowed in puzzlement, "The cat?"

"Yeah, you know. The cat."

"Oooh! The cat. It's doing just fine. Keeping me busy, as usual."

"Oh." There was another pause, "So, what's Marissa up to?"

Gary told him about Marissa's mother, and how he and Crumb were managing to keep the bar going.

"Hmmm, well it sounds like everything is under control then," Chuck said, his voice light.

"Yeah, I guess so,"

"Something wrong, Gary?"

Gary started guiltily. He wanted to say, 'Yeah, you're damn right something's wrong. I need you back here helping me with this frickin' paper.' But he didn't want Chuck to feel guilty, so instead, he swallowed, and answered, "No, Chuck. Everything's great. Well," he admitted, "we are really busy, what with the bar and the paper to contend with, but we're managing pretty well."

"Um, well that's fantastic. Listen, I hate to cut you off, but I've got people-"

"Oh, hey, no problem, Chuck," Gary said quickly. He cleared his throat, "Well, I guess I'll talk to you later."

Chuck said his good-byes, and hung up. Gary lay back down after turning off the light. For the next two hours he stared into the blackness, a strange feeling of emptiness washing over him. He didn't know what was wrong, but thought maybe he was hungry. He debated whether to get something to eat, but in the end, was too tired to get up, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Hey Hobson, you don't look so hot. You feeling okay?"

Gary shuffled into the bar and dragged himself onto a barstool. He rubbed the back of his neck, "You got any aspirin back there, Crumb?" It had been two days since Gary's late night phone call to Chuck. Two days of nearly non-stop rescues. He was beat.

"Yeah, here ya go." Crumb slid the bottle down the bar to Gary, and filled a glass of water from the spout and placed it in front him.

Gary shook out a couple and swallowed them down with a big gulp of water. "Thanks, Crumb."

Crumb watched, a frown on his face, as Gary tiredly rubbed his eyes. "Let me give you a piece of advice, kid."

"What?" Gary said quietly, too exhausted to even bother to look up. He just hung his head with both hands now clasped behind his neck; lightly massaging the tense muscles there.

"You're running yourself into an early grave. You gotta take it easy," Crumb advised, his brow furrowed in concern.

Gary shook his head, "I just have a headache. It's not that big a deal."

"Yeah, well you're probably right, but I've seen you practically kill yourself in the last few months since Fishman left. Now, I don't know where it is you go running off to everyday, and I don't want to know, but if you don't start slowing down, you're gonna make yourself sick."

"I wish I could slow down," Gary muttered under his breath as he slowly stood up. "Yeah, I'll try to take it easy the next few days," Gary said out loud, more to pacify Crumb than anything else. God knows, he wanted to, though. In a burst of inspiration-or was it exhaustion, Gary said, "You're right, Crumb. In fact, I'm going to start right now, and hit the sack."

Crumb's mouth rounded into an "O" in surprise. "Well...good. I'm glad to see that you're taking my advice."

Gary nodded, feeling half-asleep as he made his way up to his apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The next morning, Gary awoke with wracking chills and a painful cough. He gathered his comforter around him as he unsteadily made his way to the door.

"Please let there be nothing in the paper," he mumbled as he bent to pick up the Sun-Times. He retreated back to his warm bed, hoping his prayer would come true. Gary was shaking so hard from chills that it was a few moments before he could hold the paper steady enough to read it. When he did, he swore softly.

_"Woman Found Murdered in Parking Garage"_ read the headline. According to the article in the paper, the police were estimating from the time on the parking slip still on the dashboard, that the murder had happened around nine-thirty A.M. The woman's body had been found in an empty corner on the third level.

Gary pulled the comforter more tightly around him while he debated what to do. It just figured he'd get sick when no one was around to cover for him, he thought, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead in a futile effort to alleviate his fierce headache. He checked the rest of the paper, relieved to find nothing major that needed him. There were a few minor incidents that under normal circumstances he would have prevented, but Gary hoped that whoever or whatever sent him the paper would understand if he let them slide today.

* * *

"Listen lady, I'm telling ya that there's a woman up on the third floor that's gonna be in trouble unless you call the police right now!"

"Oh yeah? How do you know? You going to do something to her?" The cashier snapped her gum and rolled her eyes.

"No! No, I'm not gonna do-listen, would ya just make the call?" Gary leaned one shoulder against the booth for support as his stomach felt suddenly queasy.

The woman shook her head, "Sorry. Can't do that until security checks it out first." She seemed unconcerned as she made change for a car that was exiting.

"Fine! Call security, then get the cops on the phone, all right?" Gary sighed, and turned his back slightly away from the cashier as he checked the story in the paper.

"Dammit!" Nothing had changed except that the victim's body had been found a few minutes earlier. He turned back to the cashier, angry to find her chatting happily with a customer as she took the parking stub and rang up the man's total.

Gary rapped on the glass, "Hey!", he nodded towards the phone, "How about making that call to security?"

"I'll get to it just as soon as I ring these cars up."

Gary looked back at the line of cars waiting to exit, his eyes widened with incredulity, "But...but there are at least five cars in line!"

The cashier flashed him an annoyed look, and kept right on doing her job.

Not willing to waste any more time, Gary took off in a sprint for the nearest elevator. He waited for the elevator to come down to his floor, his breathing coming in rapid pants,. He thought about taking the steps, but sharp pains in his right side every time he took a breath short-circuited that idea.

Finally, it arrived and Gary entered, punching the button for the third floor and leaning heavily back against the wall in an attempt to catch his breath.

The doors slid open, and Gary stepped out, his body tense, senses alert. He rounded the corner of the elevator bank, eyes scanning the dimly lit parking level.

About sixty feet away, he spotted a woman and man standing near a car. He almost dismissed them as possible victim and murderer because the woman wasn't screaming and the man appeared to be smiling, but something about the way the woman was standing made him take a second look, and he started walking in their direction.

The woman was clutching a briefcase and was shaking her head no as she glanced at her watch. The man said something to her, and he reached out and touched her hand, a wide smile on his face. The woman seemed to come to a decision and hesitantly started to walk away from the elevators and Gary.

Maybe it was the man's too wide smile, or the woman's hesitation, whatever it was, suddenly Gary was certain that the man was the murderer, and the woman was the would-be victim.

"Hey, wait!" he called, his voice echoing in the cavernous garage.

The man ignored him, but the woman stopped and turned, her expression one of puzzlement. The man must have said something to her, because she turned back to him and took a few steps in his direction.

Gary began jogging, one hand clutching his side. "Hey lady!", he gasped out when he had crossed half the distance to her, "Don't go with that guy! He's gonna hurt you if you do!"

The woman stopped in her tracks and started to back away from the man. His formerly benign grin twisted into a snarl as he made a grab for the woman. She swung her briefcase at him, catching him in the shoulder and knocking him off balance. The woman then took off towards Gary, an expression of pure terror on her face.

The man started to follow, but apparently didn't like the odds of two against one, and ran in the other direction and jumped into a car.

Just as the woman reached Gary, the elevator doors opened and two security officers stepped out. It seemed the cashier had finally called them after all. The terrorized expression on the woman's face spurred the officers to action as they rushed up to Gary, knocking him to the ground.

"Hey! I didn't do anything!" Gary protested. He grunted as a knee ground into the middle of his back.

"Stop!" the woman shouted. "He's telling the truth."

"Are you sure, lady?" One of the officers asked, reluctant to release Gary.

"Yes, I'm sure." The woman stated, letting out a shaky breath. The sound of squealing tires made them look up as black sports car tore through the garage and raced down the ramp.

"That's him!" The woman shouted and pointed.

One of the security guards grabbed his radio speaking rapidly into it, while the other sprinted for the steps.

Gary gingerly sat up, rubbing the dirt and grease from the pavement off the side of his face.

"Thank you."

Gary glanced up, "You're welcome."

The woman offered a hand, which Gary took gratefully as he pulled himself to his feet, swaying slightly.

"I feel so stupid," the woman said. She shook her head in disgust, "I should've known better. I knew something wasn't right about the situation, but he said that his car wouldn't start and his daughter was in it sleeping. He asked me to just keep an eye on her while he went to call a tow-truck."

She took a tissue out of her jacket and handed it to Gary, indicating a spot he had missed on his cheek. "It's just that he seemed so nice," she continued. "He told me how his daughter just loved going to pre-school, but that today she hadn't felt well and he was on his way to the pediatrician."

She paused for a moment, as though lost in thought. "He tried to make me feel guilty. When I told him that I was late for an appointment, he sort of rolled his eyes and said, 'Oh, a career woman. Sorry to bother you.' I should have trusted my instincts."

Gary was trying to listen to her, but it seemed like the room had begun to spin. He shook his head trying to clear it.

"Are you okay?"

Gary started to answer, but suddenly darkness closed over him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Gary blinked slowly. Something was sticking in his nose, and he reached up to remove it.

"No, don't touch that, okay?"

Gary looked to his right trying to locate the voice. It belonged to a paramedic who was kneeling beside him. Gary put his hand back down, and tried to figure out why he was flat on his back in the middle of a parking garage surrounded by paramedics, police officers and a familiar-looking woman. He suddenly remembered why he had been in the garage in the first place, but that left him even more puzzled. If everything turned out okay, then why was he lying here?

"Hey?" he tugged on the paramedic's sleeve to get his attention. "What happened?"

"You passed out, buddy," came the reply, as the paramedic tightened a tourniquet around Gary's arm.

"I passed out?" Gary couldn't believe it. He had never fainted before and felt silly lying there with a gathering crowd of people gawking at him. He glanced down at his arm, "Wha-what are you gonna do?" He didn't think he was going to like the paramedic's answer.

"I'm preparing to start an IV. Just hold still, now."

Gary grit his teeth as his skin was punctured by the sharp IV catheter. Nope, he didn't like this one little bit. "Look, I'm fine now. You can just take all this stuff off me and I'll be on my way, okay?"

The paramedic paused in the process of taping the IV down, "I wouldn't advise that, sir. You've been out for almost ten minutes, and you're running a high temp." The man finished taping the line in, and sat back on his heels, giving Gary a level look. "Technically, you can refuse treatment, but I don't think it would be in your best interest. Why don't we take you to the hospital, let them discover why you passed out, and then you can decide what to do after that, okay?"

Gary sighed, and reluctantly nodded his head, "Okay, but do all these people..." Gary nodded towards the onlookers. Before Gary could finish the sentence, the paramedic took the clue, and asked the police to clear the crowd out.

A few moments later, Gary was loaded into an ambulance. He closed his eyes and relaxed, relieved to be shielded from the curious spectators.

Gary must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he was in a small cubicle in an emergency room. His shirt and jeans had been removed and a hospital gown had taken their place. A nurse appeared and stuck a thermometer in his ear. In only a few seconds, the probe was removed, and the nurse's eyebrows went up, but she didn't say a word. A plastic clip was attached to Gary's finger, and a rapid, but steady beep-beep emitted from a monitor behind his head.

The nurse was intently watching the monitor, her brow furrowed. She turned back to Gary and fiddled with the clip on his finger.

After a few moments, she shook her head, "Eighty-four? That can't be right." She adjusted the oxygen tubing in Gary's nose, sighed, and said, "I'll be right back, okay?"

Sure. Whatever. Gary nodded, and closed his eyes, more exhausted than he cared to admit.

The nurse returned shortly with the doctor in tow. The nurse hooked Gary up to a heart monitor while the doctor went to the sink and washed his hands.

"Hi, Gary. I'm Dr. Nielsen. Can you tell me what happened today?"

"Umm...well...I guess I just passed out." Gary squirmed, uncomfortable under the doctor's scrutiny.

"Were you sick? Did you have any symptoms?"

"Yeah, I guess. I woke up not feeling well."

"Did you have a fever? Chills?" The doctor took the stethoscope from around his neck, and motioned for Gary to sit forward.

"I had chills, but I don't know about a fever. I don't have a thermometer," Gary admitted.

Dr. Nielsen finished listening to Gary's breathing, and stepped back. "I'm going to order some lab tests and a chest x-ray. I think you could have a pneumonia, but I'll know more when I get the test results, okay?"

"Thanks, Doctor," Gary sighed, triggering a bout of coughing that left him breathless and clutching his right side.

The doctor cocked his head to the side. "Does it hurt to take a breath?"

Gary nodded, still too short of breath to do more.

Dr. Nielsen turned towards the nurse. "Order a chest x-ray and an ABG, stat. I don't like the looks of that pulse ox reading."

The nurse nodded, "Yes, I know. His sats were only eighty-four on two liters of oxygen when he came in, so I bumped him up to four liters, but he's still only at eighty-six."

Gary watched the exchange between them, wondering why they were talking as though he weren't in the room. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Mr.Hobson. I didn't mean to alarm you, it's just that your oxygen level seems a bit low. We'll get some blood and check it, but in the meantime, just try to rest, okay?"

A little over an hour later, most of the tests had been completed, and Gary was feeling thoroughly rung out. He had a fierce headache, his stomach was still churning, every muscle in his body ached and worst of all, every breath sent a stabbing pain shooting through the right side of his chest. The nurse had brought him a couple of acetaminophen tablets, but they hadn't seemed to have kicked in yet. All he wanted to do was to go home, climb into his own bed, pull his covers up and sleep for a week.

"Mr. Hobson? Gary?"

Gary's eyes snapped open. He must have dozed off, though he wasn't sure. He struggled to sit up, as the doctor approached. "Yes?"

Dr. Nielsen pulled a stool up to the side of the bed. "Well, Gary, I was right. You do have a pneumonia; a fairly extensive one in the right lung. You're being admitted to the telemetry unit because your heart rate is a bit fast also-probably from the fever, but I want to be on the safe side."

"Now, wait a minute," Gary protested. "I...I can't stay here. I've got things to do. I have to go home. Can't you just give me a prescription for antibiotics?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to receive intravenous antibiotics for this extensive of a pneumonia."

"Are you sure? Can't I just-"

"Listen, Gary, you have a very serious bacterial pneumonia. Your oxygen level is less than half what it should be-and that's with supplemental O2. In fact, in just a few minutes, the nurse is going to be bringing in an oxygen mask that will allow us to give you higher concentrations of O2. In addition, did you know that you're temperature when you were brought in was one hundred and four degrees?"

Gary shook his head, and swallowed. "How did I get this? I didn't even have a cold."

"Well, the bug I think you've got comes on very suddenly and without warning. I won't know till lab tests come back, but it can hit anyone, though it's most common in people with compromised immune systems."

The doctor appeared slightly uncomfortable, "I have to ask you if you have ever been tested for HIV."

Gary felt himself blanch and turn cold. "N-no. Why?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"With your permission, we'd like to draw some blood, and test it for that. However, don't be alarmed. HIV is only a very remote possibility. There are many other reasons why someone's immune system isn't up to par."

Gary tried to listen as the doctor continued to explain, but his mind was still stuck on three little letters. HIV. He couldn't have that...could he? He didn't do drugs and he wasn't exactly a ladies man, so how could he have possibly contracted something like that?

"...chemotherapy, people taking steroids or without spleens. Shoot, even undue stress can lower a person's resistance."

Gary looked up sharply. "I had my spleen out last year." Not to mention the loads of stress, Gary thought wryly.

The doctor stood up, "You did? How come?" He leaned over Gary, pulling the hospital gown up to see the scar from the incision for himself.

"I was caught in that bombing of the Sears Tower."

"Did you get a pneumonia vaccine?"

Gary thought for a minute. He seemed to remember the doctor mentioning something about that, but he couldn't recall if he had actually had one done. "I don't know. Maybe they gave me one in the hospital, but I'm not sure."

"Hmmm...well, that could explain it. Anyway, we'll get a hold of your medical records and find out for sure. You just rest, okay? Also, is there anyone you would like us to call? Family? Friends?"

Gary paused, then slowly shook his head. "No, there's no one."

Dr. Nielsen hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. You'll be going to your room soon anyway, so if you think of anyone, you can always call from there."

"Thank-you, Doctor."

His parents had taken the Gray Ghost on a cross country jaunt, and there was no telling where they were right now. Besides, his mom and dad finally seemed to be enjoying themselves again. The last time they had called, from somewhere in Montana, they had sounded like a couple of newlyweds, and Gary didn't want to spoil it for them. By the time they got back, he'd be fine and they would have cut short their vacation for nothing.

Chuck? No, he couldn't call Chuck. Things were going too well for him now. He had escaped the clutches of the paper and sounded happy and relaxed when Gary talked to him on the phone. No way did Gary want to mess up Chuck's prospects in Los Angeles.

Marissa? Definitely not. She had enough to worry about with her mom's illness. It wouldn't be fair to burden her with worry over Gary and McGinty's.

Crumb? Well, Gary supposed he would have to call him. He cringed as he imagined Crumb's gruff voice asking him what kind of trouble he had gotten into now. He hoped Crumb could handle McGinty's by himself for a few days.

Gary lay back, closing his eyes, he wondered if Crumb would think to feed the cat.

The cat!

The paper!

What was he going to do about them? He couldn't stay here. There was no one to pinch hit for him anymore. Gary sat up and methodically began to disconnect the equipment attached to him. Off came the leads to the heart monitor. Next went the little clip on his finger, followed by the oxygen. He hesitated when he came to the IV, but biting his lip, he quickly pulled it out, stifling a gasp of pain.

Now, what the hell had they done with his clothes? Gary looked about the small room, and spied a plastic shopping-type bag on a chair in the corner. That must be them, he thought gratefully. He looked for the lever to lower the side rails of the gurney, though it took a few tries to figure out which way they went when he finally did locate them. He swung his legs over the side of the gurney and pushed himself into a standing position.

He swayed unsteadily, surprised at how dizzy and weak he felt. He started to take a few steps towards the corner, when the door burst open.

The nurse and doctor stood in the doorway, their mouths hanging open in surprise. The doctor was the first to speak.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Gary was beginning to wonder that himself, as his knees began to buckle but he willed them to remain locked. "Sorry, but I can't stay here," he apologized. "I have too much to do at work and home, and...and--"

His thoughts started to become muddled, and for a moment he forgot why he had to go home. He made it to the chair, but found that he would have to sit for a moment before he could get dressed.

Dr. Nielsen caught Gary by the elbow. "Listen, Gary. If you go home, you could die. Do you understand that?"

Gary looked at him in blank confusion. Die? No. He was just a little worn out, that's all. "Sorry, Doc, but I have to go. The paper, ya know," he mumbled. "It-it doesn't let me take sick time. I have ta go, 'cause I don't have anyone left to help me, 'kay?"

The doctor tightened his grip on Gary's elbow while the nurse grasped him around the waist.

"Come on, Gary," the nurse said, "Let's get you back to bed."

Gary attempted to shake them off, but almost lost his balance in the process. To his embarrassment, he felt hot tears well up in his eyes, "You don't understand. I have responsibilities!" He ducked his head onto his shoulder, angrily wiping the wetness away.

"Shhh, it's okay, Gary. Someone else can take over for now." The doctor soothed, as together with the nurse, they succeeded in getting Gary back on the gurney.

Gary sighed, "No, they're all gone. I'm the only one left."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Crumb whistled softly as he wiped down the bar. It was a slow night. Mid-week with no baseball games scheduled tended to do that to business.

He wondered where Hobson was. Even though the kid had a crazy schedule, he usually checked in at least once during the day to see how everything was going. Especially now with Marissa out of town. It just wasn't like him.

Crumb put the rag away, and checked the time. Eight o'clock. He had a funny feeling that something wasn't right. Aw, jeez, he told himself, now you're starting to sound as bad as Hobson. He shook his head and chuckled.

Still, when the phone rang a few minutes later, Crumb rushed to answer it.

"McGinty's."

"Hey, Crumb."

Crumb smiled in relief. "Hey, Hobson. Ya know, it'd be kind of nice if ya let a person know where you're going and when you'll be back," he said gruffly.

"Sorry. I didn't get a chance to call until now."

Crumb's brow furrowed. The kid's voice sounded strange. Muffled almost. "What's going on? You in trouble again?"

"No, I-" Gary started coughing, and it was a minute or so before he was able to talk again. "Sorry about that."

"No problem. You all right? You sound kind of funny."

"Um, well, actually--I'm in the hospital."

Crumb sighed. Why wasn't he surprised? "What for this time? No--don't tell me. You were trying to stop a squirrel from getting hit by a bicycle and you were hit instead? Am I close?"

Gary chuckled. "No, it has nothing to do with the pa--, well, with what I do. I just have pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?" Crumb became serious, "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. I just have to stay in a few days to get some antibiotics."

"Well, that's good. You want me to call Chuck or Marissa?"

"No. There's no point in telling them. It's not that bad, and I'll be out of here in a few days anyway. Marissa has her mother to worry about, and Chuck's pretty busy out in LA, and I--I don't want to bother him."

"Bother him? Hobson, the guy's your best friend. I don't think you'd be bothering him." Crumb shook his head. Hobson sounded like he was holding back. "You sure you're gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, Crumb, I'm sure. Look, I have to go now. Someone's here to draw some more blood." Gary then told Crumb the name of the hospital, and his room number, and made him promise not to call either Chuck or Marissa.

"Okay, take it easy, kid." Crumb hung up. He didn't like the sound of this. He looked up Chuck's phone number and lifted the receiver, but reluctantly replaced it, cursing Hobson for making him promise not to call Chuck.

Suddenly, Crumb smiled with inspiration. Lois Hobson. Crumb chuckled gleefully as he looked up Hobson's parents' phone number. He never promised not to tell them. He dialed the number, and waited, becoming impatient as the answering machine picked up. He swore softly as the damn machine gave short beeps, but never the long one signaling the caller to leave his message. The tape must be full. Crumb hung up, frustration making him slam the phone down with uncharacteristic vehemence.

He sighed. What else could he do? He was probably making too big a deal about it, anyway. The kid said he was going to be fine. No reason not to believe him.

Crumb decided that first thing in the morning, he'd swing by the hospital and find out for himself how Hobson was doing.

* * *

Crumb walked briskly down the corridor of the hospital. He found Hobson's room, and knocked on the door as he entered. "Hey Hobson! Thought you could take a vacation..." He stopped abruptly when he realized the bed was empty. Crumb took a quick peek into the other side of the room, but the patient in that bed was an old man. He turned and walked out to the nurses' station.

"Excuse me? Nurse?" Crumb called to the first nurse he spotted. "Can you tell me which room Gary Hobson is in?" Maybe the kid had already been discharged and had taken a cab home.

The nurse took a folder off a shelf and opened it, running her finger down the page, "Hobson? Oh, here it is," she paused, looking up at Crumb. "Are you family?"

Crumb went still. He knew he should have listened to his gut feeling last night. "Uh, no. I'm a friend. Why?"

"It seems he was transferred to intensive care last night."

"Why?" Crumb cursed inwardly. He should have known that Gary would play down how sick he was.

The nurse shook her head, "I'm sorry, I don't know. He was gone before I came into work today."

Crumb sighed, "Okay, thanks. Listen, how do I get to intensive care?"

The nurse gave him directions, and added quietly, "You might think about, um, becoming related to Mr. Hobson, otherwise they won't let you in to see him."

Crumb blinked, then nodded, "Gotch ya. Thanks again."

* * *

"Okay, now roll the other way."

Gary obeyed; clinging to the side rail of the bed as one nurse put a clean sheet on half the bed, and bunched the excess sheet in a roll behind Gary's back. A nurse's aide had one hand on Gary's shoulder, the other behind his knee, as she helped him to stay on his side. Gary was grateful that she was there, because just the act of rolling on his side left him breathless. His knuckles were turning white from his grip on the rails.

"Now, back towards me, Gary."

Gary relaxed his grip on the rail, and rolled over the sheet bunched in the middle of the bed. The aide grasped the roll, and pulled it out and tucked it under the mattress.

Totally exhausted, Gary lay flat on his back in the middle of the bed; eyes closed as he panted for air. Dimly, he heard the nurses chatting as they tidied up the room, but he was almost asleep. He didn't notice when one of them picked up a newspaper from the end of his bed.

"Ellen? Is this yours?" The aide held the Sun-Times up for Ellen to see.

Ellen shook her head. The aide shrugged, tossing the paper onto a chair in a corner. "I doubt he'll feel much like reading the paper today." She gathered the dirty linen into a ball and deposited it into the hamper.

Crumb paced impatiently in the ICU waiting room. He had already been made to wait over an hour because the nurse had said that they were busy with Hobson. He was just about ready to go storming into the unit when the door opened and a nurse poked her head out. Before she had a chance to speak, Crumb hurried over. "I'm here to see Gary Hobson."

The nurse stood back, holding the door open, "I was just coming to get you. You can see him now, Mr. Hobson."

"How is he doing?" Crumb asked anxiously as he followed her through the unit.

"He's stable for the moment."

The nurse stopped in front of a room, and Crumb hesitated, "What do you mean by 'stable'? I talked to him last night on the phone, and he sounded okay. How come he's down here?"

"His breathing was becoming more labored, and his oxygen level was dropping some more, so, as a precaution, he was transferred down here where we can keep a closer eye on him."

"But he's gonna be okay now, right?"

The nurse shrugged, "He's stable for now. That's all I can tell you."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Crumb walked into Hobson's room; he opened his mouth to ask how he was doing, but closed it wordlessly when he saw that the kid was sleeping.

A chair was placed near the bed, and Crumb quietly sat down. His eyes took in the multiple IV poles laden with bags dripping mysterious fluids into his friend's veins. Wires snaked under the covers, presumably attached somewhere on Hobson's person. An oxygen mask was resting over his nose and mouth; a small plastic bag attached to the bottom of the mask; moving slightly in and out in time to Hobson's rapid breathing.

Somehow, Crumb didn't think the kid would be going home in a few days. He looked too sick. Crumb was surprised at how young and vulnerable Hobson appeared while sleeping. Like a little kid.

Crumb sighed and thought about leaving. It was almost time to go get McGinty's ready to open, but he hated to go without talking to Hobson; making sure that he was okay. He'd give it a few more minutes.

Gary coughed, the pain in his chest waking him. He glanced around the room, sensing another's presence.

"Oh, hey Crumb." Gary pushed the button to elevate the head of the bed.

Crumb stood up and took a step to bring him next to the bed. "How are you feeling, Hobson?"

Gary shrugged. "Okay, I guess." He gave Crumb a tired smile and admitted, "I've felt better."

"So, when were you planning to tell me how sick you were? Or was I gonna have to wait until the funeral home called?" Crumb folded his arms in front of him, giving Gary a stern look.

"Uh, sorry. I didn't plan on--well, that is, I didn't know--I guess it just came on so suddenly that I didn't get a chance to tell anybody," Gary finished lamely. He was surprised. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that Crumb was worried about him. Usually Gary had the impression that while Crumb liked him, he also thought that Gary was a bit strange, and so kept his distance a little bit. After all, they had only known each other for about eighteen months, and for the first twelve, Gary had been nothing but a pain in the neck to Crumb.

Crumb's expression softened slightly. "Well, okay. Did you let your parents know, at least?"

Gary shook his head. "I couldn't. They're traveling around the country. I don't even know where they are right now. They call about once a week to check in, but they aren't due to call me for another four or five days."

"Humph," Crumb snorted. "What about Chuck and Marissa? I really think you ought to tell them."

Gary looked undecided. "What would be the point, Crumb? They have their own lives and problems. I don't need to burden them with mine. They've already done so much in the last couple of years it wouldn't be fair."

"Well, I don't know exactly what you're talking about, but if you mean helping with McGinty's, well, I'm sorry, but Fishman was your partner. He was supposed to help you. Now he's off chasing some pipe dream in California, while you're stuck with all the problems."

Gary glanced away, not wanting Crumb to see how close to home he had hit. He felt guilty for feeling that Chuck had abandoned him. After all, Chuck was entitled to live his own life. Gary knew that, but then why did he feel resentful?

Gary sighed. "I know, Crumb, but I still wish you wouldn't call them. Please?" Gary closed his eyes, the conversation exhausting him.

Crumb put a hand on Gary's shoulder, "Okay, Hobson, but I don't like it." He sat back in the chair.

* * *

Chuck opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. Taking a long, satisfying swig, he wandered over to his answering machine. The red light was blinking. Chuck hit the play button, and flopped down into an easy chair next to the machine. He took another sip from the bottle, ignoring the messages from hopeful actors, would-be writers, and second-rate directors. He didn't know how it happened, but somehow these people were able to ferret out every little project that might possibly need their 'talents'.

There were no messages from anyone that mattered. Chuck sighed and hit the erase button on the machine. He found the remote trapped between the cushion and the side of the chair and turned on the television. He flipped through the channels, more to have something to do than because he was actually interested in watching anything.

"Oh, hey, the Cubbies!" Chuck exclaimed when he came across a Chicago game on cable. He got up to get another beer and grabbed a bag of pretzels to munch on. He re-settled himself in the chair, happily singing along to a recording of Harry Carey singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame".

The song took him back to the time he and Gary had gone to a double-header in Wrigley Field. They had sat in the right field bleachers, and, along with the rest of the crowd, had good-naturedly teased the opposing team's right fielder. Several beers into the game, neither of them had even felt the sunburn on their backs. Gary had caught a homerun ball, but since it was hit by the other team, he had heaved it back onto the field, a silly grin plastered on his face.

Chuck chuckled at the memory. He focused on the TV when Sammy Sosa came up to bat. The guy was red-hot. Wouldn't it be a kick in the butt to catch one of his homer's? Chuck wondered if Gary had gone to any games this year. He'd have to remember to ask him next time they talked on the phone. Chuck shifted guiltily as he remembered the last time Gary had called. It had been nagging at him ever since. He'd had those production bozos over and had been unable to concentrate on what Gary was saying due to all the racket the guys had been making. He had meant to call Gary back the next day and apologize, but he had gotten busy and had never found the time. Well, Gary would understand. Gary was nothing if not understanding.

Chuck finished his first beer, and opened the second one that was waiting on the table. Yep. That's Gary. Mr. Understanding. Chuck took a long swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He wondered if Gary had been up to anything exciting as far as the paper was concerned. He hated to admit it, but he almost missed the thrill of helping to try to change the future.

Chuck set his beer down, and picked up the phone, dialing Gary's number. He frowned when the answering machine picked up. He left a brief message. Chuck glanced at his watch. It was eight o'clock his time, which meant it was ten o'clock Chicago time. He dialed the number to McGinty's.

"McGinty's."

"Hey Crumb! How are ya doin!" Chuck sat forward on the edge of the chair, grinning from ear to ear.

"Fishman? That you?"

"Yeah, it's me. How are things going?"

There was a pause, and Chuck's smile slowly faded. "What's wrong?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"What's wrong, Fishman? What's wrong is that you're out in Tinsel Town when Hobson needs you here!"

Chuck held the phone away from his ear, wincing. "Hey, wait a minute, Crumb. I just talked to Gary a few days ago, and he said everything was fine."

"Yeah, well, it's not so fine anymore," Crumb said, accusingly. "He made me promise not to call you or Marissa, but since you called me, I guess I'm not technically going back on my word."

"He made you promise?" Chuck ran a hand through his hair. He didn't like the sound of this. "What the hell is going on?"

"What's going on is your ex-partner was running around here like a maniac trying to do everything. He ran his ass off so much that he made himself sick!" Crumb practically bellowed into the phone.

"Sick?"

"Yeah. Sick. He's in the hospital right now."

Chuck felt a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. "Gar's in the hospital?"

"You sound like a damn parrot, Fishman. Yeah, he's in the ICU with pneumonia."

"Pneumonia? ICU?" Chuck repeated, then winced at his stupidity. "Is he gonna be all right?" He heard Crumb sigh.

"I don't know. I went to visit him this morning, and he didn't look so good. On the way out, I ran into his doc coming in, and asked him a few questions. He said that there can be complications of this type of pneumonia."

"What kind of complications?" Chuck stood up and turned off the television.

"I didn't understand all his medical mumbo-jumbo, but it sounded something like the possibility of the bacteria moving into the bloodstream or infecting the brain."

"Shit!" Chuck grabbed his empty beer bottle and flung it into the garbage. "Did you call his parents?"

"No. I tried. Hobson said that they're traveling around the country."

"Okay. I'm taking the first flight I can get. In the meantime, have Marissa keep trying to get in touch with his parents. I think Gary keeps-"

"Marissa's not here."

"What?" Chuck paused in the act of pulling the phone book out of a drawer. "Where is she?"

"She's at her mother's house. I guess her mom had some surgery and Marissa wanted to be there to help her afterwards."

"Oh man!" Guilt flooded through Chuck as he remembered Gary telling him about Marissa going to her mother's house. He had forgotten all about it; too caught up in his own life at the moment to spare a thought for Gary back in Chicago. He groaned, all hell was breaking loose. "How long has Marissa been at her mother's?" He couldn't recall the details that Gary had told him.

"About two weeks."

"Two weeks? Gar's had to do everything by himself for two weeks?" Chuck leaned over the kitchen counter, his head in his hands, the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. Why hadn't Gary told him that he needed help? Chuck thought back to the phone call Gary had made a few nights ago. He remembered the awkwardness; the forced lightness of Gary's voice. Maybe Gary had tried to tell him. Maybe he hadn't listened.

"Hey, I've been tending bar most nights." Crumb sounded slightly defensive.

"Yeah...yeah, I know, Crumb. It's just that Gary can get really busy doing...uh...doing other stuff."

"Yeah, well...whatever it is that he does is gonna have to wait, 'cause the kid sure ain't gonna be doing much of anything for awhile."

Chuck thought about Crumb's words, wondering where the paper was. "Have you seen Gary's cat around?"

"Huh? I'm telling you that Hobson is sicker than a dog, and you're worried about some cat?"

Chuck bit his lip, "Well, Gar's very attached to that cat. He'd be pretty upset if something happened to it."

"Fine, Fishman. If I see it, I'll be sure to give it a bowl of milk, okay?" The sarcasm practically leapt out of the phone.

"Yeah. Um...Crumb? If you see Gary before I do...just tell him...uh...tell him that I'm on my way and that I'll take care of everything, okay?" Chuck closed his eyes, picturing Gary trying to drag an IV pole around while out saving the world. The image almost made him smile. Almost.

* * *

Gary put the spoon down, giving up on his attempt to eat the evening snack of orange sherbet the nurse had brought him. He pulled the O2 mask, which had been temporarily resting on top of his head while he tried to eat, back down over his mouth. He glanced disinterestedly at the TV. The Cubs were playing. He wondered if they were winning.

His eyes burned from the fever, but he didn't really feel like sleeping. He ached all over, but his chest most of all. The very act of breathing seemed to sap all of his energy. He watched as Sammy Sosa came up to bat. Boy, what he wouldn't give to be at Wrigley Field with Chuck. A couple of hot dogs, and a few cold beers. Perfect. Gary pictured the scene--the sun shining, the wind blowing out, the ivy rippling in the breeze. He could almost hear the cries of the vendors as he attempted to take his mind off his misery.

His mental imagery worked. For about a minute. Then he groaned softly, as he tried to get comfortable. Gary knew he should try to sleep, but he was too anxious about the paper. He hadn't seen it all day. What if some kid was out there getting run over by a car this very minute? What if a woman was being mugged in Lincoln Park? Or someone had a gas leak and their house exploded? The possibilities for disaster were endless and they all raced through Gary's fevered mind.

At least when he had been stuck in that theater for those two days, the cat had delivered the paper to his dad. Of course, Gary hadn't known that at the time, but he had thought that maybe Chuck would find the paper. While Chuck might have placed a few bets, Gary was sure that he would've saved anyone that needed it. Pretty sure anyway.

This time, there was no one the cat could go to. No one that Gary knew of anyway. Maybe the cat would find a new person.

At this point, Gary wasn't sure if he cared or not. He'd had a decent life before the paper--well, except for his divorce from Marcia. The paper had succeeded in isolating him from most of his friends. Chuck had hung around the longest, but even he, in the end, had left.

Marissa was still here, but Gary wondered how long she would stick around. He couldn't blame her if she left, or at least, distanced herself from him. What if someday she met someone and got married? How would she explain someone like Gary to her husband?

Who would help him then?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Come on...come on, buddy." Chuck impatiently waved down a cab in front of the United Airlines terminal at O'Hare. His day had not started out at all well. He'd had to fly stand-by, so that had meant waiting around for several hours at LAX. Then, when he had arrived in Chicago, there was a mix-up in the luggage area, and it took another thirty minutes to straighten that mess out. It was now three P.M. Chicago time, and Chuck hadn't had a chance to check in with Crumb concerning Gary's condition.

The cab swerved over to the curb, and Chuck quickly opened the back door, tossing his luggage in ahead of him. "I'm going to..." Chuck dug around in his pocket until he came up with the name and address of the hospital, giving them to the cabby. "And I'm in a hurry, buddy, so step on it."

Chuck sat back calculating that at this time of day, with this traffic, it would take at least forty minutes to get to the hospital. He sighed in frustration.

Life used to be so simple, he mused. Go to work, make a few well-placed buys on the stock market. Go out for a beer afterwards with Gary and maybe a few of the other traders. Simple. Uncomplicated. Predictable.

Boring. Chuck started when that thought jumped into his head. Boring can be good, he argued with himself. Boring doesn't get you knocked on the head by ex-cons. Boring doesn't have you traipsing around Chicago in the wee hours of the morning in sub-zero temperatures. Boring means not having to wonder if the next day's paper was going to be carrying your obituary...or your best friend's.

Chuck took a deep breath, his foot tapping restlessly on the floor, willing the cab to go faster; a sense of urgency permeating his being. He had to be there for Gary. Be there to...to...what? Chuck didn't know.

Could Crumb really be right? Chuck stared glumly out the window, his head resting in his hand. Had Gary literally run himself into the ground? Chuck wondered if it would have made any difference if he had been there to take on some of the load. Chuck stared out the window at the approaching Chicago skyline. He didn't know the answers to the questions, but it really didn't matter. Deep down, he knew he should have been there.

Chuck hurried down the hospital corridor, spotting the sign pointing to the ICU waiting area. He turned into the room, almost running into a familiar figure.

"Crumb!"

"Hey, Fishman. Nice to see you could take time out of your busy schedule."

Chuck swallowed back a retort. There were more important matters to discuss. "How is he?"

Crumb glanced towards a door marked "ICU", and shook his head. "Not so good. They can't get his fever down, and he's been pretty out of it all day."

Chuck's stomach did a sickening flip. He had been hoping that the news would be good. "I need to see him. How do I get in there?"

Before Crumb could answer, a nurse approached them, "Mr. Hobson? You can go in now." She nodded, and smiled. "Keep your visit brief, though, okay?"

Chuck looked at Crumb, eyebrows raised in puzzlement. He mouthed, "Mr. Hobson?"

Crumb cleared his throat, attempting to ignore Chuck's look, "Uh, thank you. Can Gary's...uh...brother...go in too?"

The nurse looked from Crumb to Chuck, eyeing them up and down dubiously, "His brother?"

Chuck gave her what he felt was his most charming smile while throwing an arm around Crumb's shoulders. "Yes, and I must say that Dad has told me what marvelous care you have given my brother. Thank you so much."

The nurse smiled, tongue in cheek, "You're welcome." She nodded towards the ICU entrance, "Go on in."

Chuck grinned, and followed Crumb through the door. The old Fishman charm, he thought, it works every time.

His grin died as they entered Gary's room. Gary looked terrible. His face was gaunt, as though he had lost considerable weight, and what Chuck could see of it around the mask was stark white except for twin spots of color high on his cheekbones. Gary's eyes were closed and heavy dark smudges decorated the skin beneath them. The rasping sound of his struggle to breathe filled the room. The only other sound came from a monitor on a table near the head of the bed. It made a rapid beeping noise and the number eighty-eight flashed on and off.

Chuck slowly approached the bed, sidestepping IV poles and shooting a scared look towards Crumb. "Is he awake?"

Crumb shrugged, "Hobson?"

Gary's eyelids flickered slightly.

"Gar? It's me, Chuck."

Gary's head turned slightly and Chuck could see Gary fight to open his eyes, "Hey, Chuck."

Chuck smiled, lifting his gaze to Crumb's. "He's awake!" He looked back to Gary. "How're ya feeling, buddy?"

Gary coughed, scrunching up his face in pain, "I don't feel too good, Chuck."

Chuck eyes opened wide in alarm. It must be pretty bad if Gary admitted to feeling sick.

Gary lost the battle to keep his eyes open, apologizing, "Sorry, Chuck. So tired."

Chuck clapped him gently on the shoulder. "You just rest, Gar, okay? I'll take care of everything."

Gary nodded slightly, then fought to open his eyes again, reaching up and pulling the oxygen mask away from his face. "Chuck, I haven't seen the pa-"

Chuck quickly pulled the mask back down. "Gotta leave that in place, okay, Gar?" He leaned down in a pretense of trying to adjust the tightness of the mask and whispered, "Leave everything to me, buddy. Don't worry about it."

Gary sighed, falling instantly asleep.

Chuck remained standing by the bed for several minutes while Crumb stood in a corner, arms crossed, staring up at the heart monitor that was suspended from the ceiling. Chuck felt somehow comforted by Crumb's vigilance; as though the sheer force of Crumb's will and determination was responsible for keeping the peaks and valleys marching across the screen. As long as Crumb was there, Gary would be okay.

Chuck pulled a chair next to the bed, and sank onto it, wondering what had become of the paper. Pretending to tie his shoe, he leaned down and glanced under the bed. No cat. No paper. He sat up, mouth pursed to one side as he thought about where the paper would be. Probably back at Gary's apartment.

Truthfully, Chuck admitted that he wasn't all that disappointed that the paper was nowhere to be seen. If the paper did return, Chuck knew that Gary would expect Chuck to fill-in for him. Not a job Chuck relished. Of course, right now, Gary would likely never know the difference, but Chuck wasn't sure that he could handle the guilt he would feel if, when Gary was better, he asked Chuck details about the rescues and Chuck was forced to lie.

Chuck knew he just wasn't cut out to be a hero. Sure, he'd tag along when Gary did his good deeds, and had even saved the day a few times, he remembered, his chest puffing out slightly. But he knew the only reason he did it was for Gary--not for the unfortunate souls who needed the rescuing. Not that he ever wanted anyone to get hurt, he thought defensively, but some things are just meant to be. That's life. Karma. Shit happens.

Chuck stretched, his gaze dropping to Gary's hand lying on top of the sheet. An IV was protruding from the back of it, dried blood crusting around the puncture site just visible beneath the clear bandage holding everything in place. He shuddered as the impact of Gary's illness slammed home. Shit happens, all right, he thought, sinking slowly against the back of the chair. And now it had happened to Gary.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Excuse me. Gentlemen?"

"What? Huh?" Chuck started awake. Taking a deep breath and opening his eyes wide, he glanced around, realizing that he had fallen asleep in the chair next to Gary's bed. He self-consciously checked to see if he had drooled while dozing. He searched for Crumb, and wasn't surprised to see him still standing in the corner, eyes glued to the heart monitor.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Nielsen. The nurse told me that you were here, and I wanted to catch you before you left."

Chuck stood and turned around to face the voice. He greeted the tall, balding doctor with an outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Nielsen. I'm Chuck Fishman and-"

"Fishman?" Dr. Nielsen's eyebrows shot up in puzzlement. "I thought you were Gary's brother."

Chuck's eyes opened wide, and, gulping, he flicked a glance towards Crumb. The older man was rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Chuck's gaffe. Chuck cleared his throat, "Uh...we're step-brothers...sort of."

Dr. Nielsen held his hand up, a half-smile on his face. "Hold it. I really don't care if you are related or not. That's the hospital's rule, not mine. Anyway, Mr. Fishman, if you and Mr. Hobson could step out in the hall with me for a moment, I'd like to discuss Gary's condition with you."

"Mr. Hobson is here?" Chuck asked, looking behind the doctor in hopes of seeing Gary's dad.

"Aw, jeez, Fishman." Crumb snorted.

Dr. Nielsen gave a short laugh. "So, I take it you aren't Gary's dad, either."

Crumb shook his head. The gig was up. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. "Zeke Crumb. I hated to mislead you, Doctor, but Hobson's real parents are traveling, and we can't reach them."

Chuck bit his lower lip, hoping they weren't going to be tossed out on their ears.

Dr. Nielsen nodded, clasping Crumb's hand. "I understand. However, I'm in kind of an awkward position, here. I shouldn't discuss a patient's condition with anyone but the patient's family."

"Look, Doc, other than his parents, we're all the kid's got." Crumb gestured towards Gary. "We're almost like a family," Crumb finished gruffly, studiously avoiding Chuck's astonished gaze.

Dr. Nielsen sighed. "Let me see if I can get Gary's permission. If you'll wait in the hall, I'll be right out.

Chuck paced restlessly outside Gary's room. "Sorry, Crumb. I should have kept my mouth shut."

Crumb pursed his lips, his hands in his pockets. "Forget it, Fishman. The truth would have come out sooner or later."

Chuck shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." He ventured closer to Gary's door, craning his neck to see what was taking the doctor so long. The doctor was adjusting some equipment attached to Gary's finger. Chuck still couldn't believe how sick Gary looked. Even though he had been warned by Crumb, he hadn't been fully prepared to see his buddy lying so still, all his energy being consumed in the effort to breathe.

Seeing the doctor headed towards the door, Chuck pulled his head back around, not wanting eavesdropping to be added to his list of crimes.

Dr. Nielsen approached Chuck and Crumb, his expression neutral. "Gary did grant me permission to discuss his condition with you both, though the sooner you could reach his parents, the better."

"W-what do you mean?" Chuck said, in alarm.

The doctor sighed. "I just don't like the way things are going right now, but let me begin by explaining Gary's condition."

Chuck swallowed hard.

Crumb lifted his chin up slightly, then nodded. "Okay, Doc."

"As you know, Gary has a severe pneumonia. We've cultured the bug causing it, and, as I suspected, it's a pneumococcal pneumonia."

Chuck glanced at Crumb, shrugging. He hadn't a clue what the doctor was talking about.

The doctor continued. "Now, normally, a guy Gary's age probably wouldn't get this bug. It occurs most often in people over sixty-five, but Gary has had a splenectomy, and the spleen is involved in fighting infection. Without it, his natural defenses were lowered, making him susceptible to the bacteria."

"Can you treat it?" This really doesn't sound good, Chuck thought, frightened for Gary.

"Oh sure. It's fairly simple to treat. We just give antibiotics like penicillin. The problem is that it moves so quickly--within hours--that by the time Gary was brought in most of his right lung was already full of pneumonia."

"So, what happens now?" Crumb asked, arms crossed in front of him in a determined stance.

"We continue treating him with antibiotics and try to maintain his oxygen level until the penicillin starts winning. Unfortunately, it can take up to five days for the drugs to begin to win the war." Dr. Nielsen rubbed the back of his neck. "The problem is, I'm not sure how long Gary can continue his fight."

Chuck and Crumb shared uneasy glances, Crumb being the one to voice their fears. "I don't understand. It's been three days already. That means in just two more days, he should start to get better, right?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, but Gary's been breathing at a clip of forty-four to forty-eight breaths a minute for a couple of days now."

"Forty-eight is bad?" Chuck felt clueless in medical matters. It seemed to him that the more someone breathed, the better off they were. "What's normal?"

"Forty-eight is definitely not good," Dr. Nielsen explained. "Twelve to sixteen breaths per minute would be considered normal."

Crumb cleared his throat, "Uh, Doc, what will happen if Hobson's breathing doesn't get any better?"

"The way he's going at some point his body will be too exhausted to continue. If that happens before the meds kick in, he'll go into respiratory failure."

"What does that mean?" Chuck felt his stomach clench. He really, really didn't like the sound of this.

"It means we would have to insert a tube and put him on a ventilator to help him breathe. That comes with a whole new set of risks, which include lung damage, that I'd like to avoid if possible."

Chuck blanched, remembering Gary's condition after the Sears Tower bombing. How Gary had hated it. Not being able to communicate had nearly driven him crazy. "Do you think it will come to that?"

"I don't know, Mr. Fishman. Right now, his oxygen level is still very low. If it gets any lower-well-", the doctor bit his lip and shook his head, "let's just say that any lower and it's not compatible with life. We already have him on one hundred percent oxygen. The only way to give more is to put him on a ventilator. By adding pressure, we can hopefully increase the oxygen level in his blood."

"And what if you can't?" Crumb asked quietly, his gaze boring into the doctor.

The doctor took a deep breath before answering. "Let's hope we won't have to deal with that scenario, Mr. Crumb."

Crumb nodded, smoothing a hand over the top of his head, "He's a tough kid. He'll come through it."

Chuck cleared his throat nervously. He had to know. "Dr. Nielsen? Would...could--stress have made Gary sick?"

Dr. Nielsen cocked his head to the side in thought, "Hmmm, I'm not sure. It could have helped to lower his immunity. There are studies out there that claim that stress plays a factor in many illnesses. It could have, I suppose."

Chuck crossed his arms; turning away from the doctor. He didn't risk a glance at Crumb; afraid of what he would find in the old cop's eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Gary? You awake?" Chuck gently shook Gary's shoulder. After the doctor had left, Chuck and Crumb had sat with Gary for another hour. Chuck had started to tell Crumb about everything that had been going on in California, but finally shut up when it became apparent that Crumb wasn't interested. He listened to Gary's breathing-every rasping breath scraping at the festering guilt he felt for not being there to help when Gary had needed him.

Crumb had stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his face stoic as though he were Gary's personal guard. Gary's condition hadn't changed. He was still breathing like he had just run a marathon. A nurse had explained that the number that was flashing on the monitor should normally be around ninety-six, but that as long as Gary's number eighty-eight didn't fall any lower, he was at least holding his own. Chuck tried to take comfort in that. "Hey, Gar, the nurses are kicking us out now. I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

Gary nodded, opening his eyes, "Thanks for coming, Chuck. Sorry I'm such lousy company. Take care of the paper for me, would ya?"

Chuck pasted on a grin. "No problem, buddy." He blinked hard, looking away. He started to ask if he should call Marissa, but Gary's eyes had already drifted closed. He'd call her, Chuck decided.

Back in the ICU waiting room, Chuck retrieved his suitcase, amazed that it had remained untouched throughout his visit.

"So, where are you staying, Fishman? Can I give you a lift?"

Chuck turned towards Crumb. That was a good question, one he hadn't even thought about. What was he thinking? That he could just go back to his old apartment? Chuck took a deep breath, cursing his lack of planning. "I really don't know, Crumb. I guess I wasn't thinking that far ahead."

Crumb snorted, "Don't surprise me none. Listen, why don't you stay in Hobson's apartment? I doubt he would mind."

Obviously, Crumb didn't know Gary quite as well as he did, Chuck thought wryly. Of course, since Gary wasn't home, there was little chance that Chuck could annoy him, so what the heck, he might as well stay there. Besides, that way it would be easier to help out at McGinty's while he was here.

* * *

Chuck dropped his suitcase inside the door to Gary's apartment. He glanced around the room. Gary's bed was unmade, with the comforter balled up in the middle. Walking into the kitchen area, Chuck noted an empty container of aspirin sitting out on the counter next to a bottle of cough medicine; silent testimony that Gary had tried to treat his illness himself.

Several days' worth of laundry was strewn near the bed, most of it having a just stepped out of appearance. Chuck sighed. It wasn't like Gary to let dirty clothes lay around. He was usually a fairly neat person. Chuck kicked most of it out of the way and it into a corner. He'd deal with that later.

First thing he wanted to do was to call Marissa; unfortunately, he had no idea what her mother's phone number was. Knowing Marissa though, she had probably left the number, as well as a complete list of everything that needed to be done in her absence, in a note down in the office. He turned to go downstairs and check when his eye caught the flashing light of the answering machine.

He hesitated, feeling somewhat like an interloper. Chuck shrugged, that had never stopped him from being nosy before. Besides, this time he had a good excuse to listen to Gar's messages. He took a few steps to the table where the machine set.

"Hey Gar! Where are ya, buddy? I've been trying-"

There must be something wrong with the machine to make his voice sound so bad, Chuck mused as he skipped the rest of the message that he had left on Gary's machine when he had called from California.

"Hello, Gary? This is Renee. I was just thinking about you, and-"

Chuck paused the tape, tempted to listen to the rest of Renee's message. Finally, he sighed and hit the skip button. Even he wasn't so nosy that he would listen to personal messages. He grinned, he could always come back to it later. Right now, though, he hoped that Marissa had called and left a message. He hit the play button again.

"Bingo!" Chuck smiled as he heard Marissa's serene voice.

"Hi Gary. I guess you're out saving the world, huh? Anyway, I just called to tell you that my mother is doing well. I'm not sure of when I'm coming back, but it looks like it could be towards the end of the week. I hope things are going smoothly, and I'll be back as soon as I can. Call if you need anything. Here is the number to my mom's, in case you lost it."

Chuck grabbed a pencil and a piece of scrap paper and quickly jotted the number down.

* * *

"Mama? What are you doing?" Marissa could hear cans scrape the shelf.

Her mother sighed, "I'm trying to reach the can of tomato soup."

"Why didn't you let me get it, Mama? You know you're not supposed to be lifting your arms above your head," Marissa gently admonished. Sometimes her mother could be so stubborn. "Just tell me if I have the right can." She carefully reached up towards the shelf.

"Two to the left, Marissa."

Marissa handed her mother the soup just as the phone rang. "I'll get it. You go ahead and make your soup. If it's one of your church friends, do you feel up to talking with them, or do you want me to tell them you're resting?"

"I'll talk."

"Okay." Marissa answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, Marissa?"

She smiled at the familiar voice. "Chuck? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. How are things going? Gary told me about your mother."

"Everything is going really well. My mother is back on her feet and just as stubborn as ever." Marissa flashed a grin towards the stove, where she could hear her mother stirring the soup. "So, did Gary give you my mom's number? Have you talked to him recently?"

There was a hesitation on Chuck's end, followed by a sigh. "Um, no...not exactly."

A prickling apprehension crept through Marissa. "What is it, Chuck?"

"Gary's sick, Marissa. He's in the hospital with pneumonia."

Marissa felt around for the kitchen table, and slid onto a chair, her head resting in her hand. "Gary's sick with pneumonia? How bad is it?"

Her mother's hand gently squeezed her shoulder and Marissa reached up to cover it with her own trembling hand.

"It's bad. Really bad. They're thinking of sticking that tube down him to help him to breathe. You know, like he had before."

Marissa gasped. Chuck sure didn't pull any punches. "Oh my God! When...when did he get sick?"

"Crumb said that Gary collapsed at a parking garage a few days ago."

"How come nobody called me?"

"Well, what am I? Chopped liver? I'm callin' ya."

"I'm sorry, Chuck. It's just such a shock." Marissa shuddered, blinking back a tear. Her mother walked away, but returned a moment later with a soft tissue that she placed in Marissa's hand.

"I know. I know, Marissa. Sorry about that. I only found out last night when I called McGinty's. Crumb told me but I guess Gary made him promise not to call either of us. He didn't think it was a big deal. You know Gary."

Marissa did know Gary, and knew that it was just like him to not want to bother anyone.

"I flew out this morning and went directly to the hospital. I only just now got back to Gary's and got your number."

"You're in Chicago? You've already seen Gary? How-how did he seem?"

"He's sleeping a lot. In fact, he hardly spoke at all. I think he lost some weight."

"How did he get so sick? Didn't anyone notice?"

"Well, according to Crumb, the both of them were so busy that they barely saw each other."

Marissa swallowed, guilt flooding through her. It was partly her fault that Gary had been so busy. Even before she had left, Gary had been running himself ragged. Why had she hoped that it would be any different just because she was gone? The paper had never given Gary vacation time before. " I should have been there, Chuck." Maybe if she had, things would have been different. At least, she would have noticed if Gary had been sick. Maybe.

"No, Marissa. It wouldn't have made any difference. The doctor said that the kind of pneumonia that Gary had comes on really quickly." There was a slight pause, "Besides, you had a good reason."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Have you heard anything more, Chuck?" were Marissa's first words when he picked her up at the airport early the next morning.

"No. I called this morning, and they just told me that he was still critical but stable."

Marissa was silent for most of the drive to her apartment, and Chuck didn't seem in a talkative mood for once in his life. Grateful for small favors, Marissa wondered how her mother was doing. Had she had been able to get her hair washed by herself? Sighing, Marissa rubbed her temples. She had felt torn between staying with her mother and coming back for Gary. She smiled slightly as she recalled her mama's words. "Marissa, honey, I appreciate everything you've done, but if you don't get your self on a plane tomorrow and go back to Chicago to be with Gary, I'll disown you." Marissa had hugged her mother, loving her even more for her understanding.

"What's so funny?"

Marissa jumped. The silence in the car had stretched for so long, she had almost forgotten about Chuck. "Oh, nothing. Just something my mother said."

"Is she gonna be okay without you there?"

Smiling, Marissa nodded, "Let's just say that if I hadn't come back here-I wouldn't be okay."

Chuck laughed softly.

Marissa had Chuck stop by her apartment first, and asked him to wait while she put her suitcases away and quickly changed. As it was still too early to go visit Gary, they ate breakfast at a small diner, then went to McGinty's.

Chuck opened the door to the bar, surprised to find Crumb already getting the bar ready to open for lunch. "What are you doing here so early?"

"What do ya mean? Who else did you expect to get the place ready for lunch? The tooth fairy?" Crumb rolled his eyes, but then smiled as he saw Marissa walk in behind Chuck.

"Well, I just figured Gary would have hired someone by now."

"Nope."

"Oh." Chuck swallowed. Crumb's simple answer spoke volumes. In an abstract sort of way, Chuck had worried about how Gary would find time to run the bar and take care of business with the paper. But, in all the excitement of moving and starting his own production company, the worry had been pushed to a far corner of his mind, a corner so remote that Chuck guiltily tried to recall the last time he had really thought about it. He had just assumed that Gary had hired someone to help with the day to day operations, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how difficult a position it would be to fill.

How would Gary explain his frequent absences to a new manager? Not that he had to explain, exactly, as Gary was the owner. But wouldn't a manager--new one at least, expect Gary to be around a bit more? What if, somehow, the new manager found out about the paper? What would happen then? What would he or she do with the information?

Chuck began to understand, maybe for the first time, the dilemma that Gary had faced. The situation that he, Chuck, had forced Gary to deal with.

He sat quietly on a barstool while Marissa and Crumb greeted each other. Chuck plucked a few peanuts from a dish on the bar, feeling ill at ease, as though he should be doing something. He had an urge to check the bar stock, to see if there was enough of everything, but shook it off. He didn't belong here anymore. It wasn't his job.

Marissa followed Chuck into McGinty's. The familiar scents of furniture polish, wood, and beer enveloped her and were comforting. She was home.

"Hey, young lady, C'mere! It's good to see you."

Smiling, Marissa felt herself being enveloped in a hug, and returned the embrace. "I'm glad to be back--but not under these circumstances. How is he, Crumb?" Marissa's voice trembled on the last sentence.

Crumb gave Marissa another squeeze before releasing her and stepping back. His hands rested on her shoulders, "Hobson's tough, Marissa. A lot tougher than you or I even know. He'll be okay."

Marissa nodded, "Yes, I know, but I can't help worrying. What does the doctor say?"

Crumb sighed, "He's had a rough time of it the last few days, that's for sure, but the doc says that by tomorrow the penicillin should start to take a noticeable effect."

His hand on her elbow, Crumb gently guided Marissa to a chair and they both sat quietly for a moment.

"How come you never called me? Why didn't Gary want me to know?" The words were spoken softly, but the hurt in them was loud and clear.

"I think, Marissa, that Hobson really thought that everything was under control. That there was no need to bother anyone."

"Bother? Why would he think he was bothering anyone? Doesn't he know that there are people that care about him?" Marissa swallowed back a sob.

Crumb reached over, and awkwardly grasped her hand. "I should've called you. I'm sorry, Marissa. I'm not trying to make excuses, but until I actually saw him, I didn't think he was that bad either."

Marissa swiped at the tears that were running down her cheeks, shaking her head, "You don't have to apologize, Crumb. Neither does Gary. I guess I'm just angry at the whole situation. I'm mean, why Gary? What has he ever done to deserve this?"

* * *

Chuck had prepared a lengthy excuse to get Marissa into Gary's room-something about a second cousin twice removed-but found it wasn't necessary. When they had buzzed the intercom, there was no answer for several minutes, finally, a technician exited the ICU, and Chuck caught the door before it had a chance to close again.

"Are you sure we should be doing this, Chuck?" Marissa whispered.

"Uh, no, but do you want to get into Gary's room or don't ya? Don't worry, if we're not supposed to be there, they'll kick us out."

Chuck led Marissa to Gary's room, noting in passing that the nurses seemed busy. Several were on the phone, and writing in charts. One especially harried looking nurse was speaking loudly to someone on the phone. Chuck heard her say, "No, we need someone down here right now to intubate." The nurse slammed the phone down, muttering something about anesthesiologists.

They entered Gary's room, and Chuck stopped in his tracks, causing Marissa to inadvertently bump into his back.

"What is it, Chuck?"

"I-I don't know." Chuck stared at Gary. The day before, Gary had been breathing rapidly, and but now his breathing was slow and gasping. There were long pauses between breaths. Was that good or bad?

"Is he sleeping?"

"Umm. I think so." Only Chuck feared it was worse than sleep. He walked to the bed, one hand steering Marissa around the IV poles. "Hey, Gar!" Chuck shook Gary's shoulder. There was no response. Not even an eyelid flickered.

"Who are you? Who let you in?"

Chuck looked up to find the nurse that had slammed the phone down, now glaring at him. From the expression on her face, he should have been worried about what she would do but all that entered his mind was here was someone that could tell him what was wrong. "How come I can't wake him up?"

The nurse's face softened, "Are you friends?"

Chuck nodded, and Marissa answered, "Yes."

"He's gotten worse in just the last forty-five minutes. I've called the doctor with some lab result and we've decided to insert a tube to help him to breathe. In a moment, someone will be here to do that procedure. If you could go to the waiting room now, I'll come and get you as soon as possible, okay?"

"Oh my God!" Marissa gasped, one hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Chuck put an arm around her to support her, and to guide her out of the room. He glanced back at Gary. "Hey?" he turned to the nurse, his eyes wide, "I don't think he's-"

"Damn!" The nurse took one look at Gary and rushed to the head of the bed, her hand slapping a button on the wall. The button started flashing as the nurse grabbed a purple thing from a hook on the wall. The purple thing looked similar to a football, with a few additions to it and the nurse pulled the oxygen mask off Gary and slapped a different mask that was connected to the purple football over Gary's face. She began squeezing the football thing.

"What is it, Chuck?" Marissa whispered, clutched at Chuck, "Tell me!"

"I don't think Gary's breathing, Marissa." Chuck said, his voice low and worried. He pulled Marrisa back towards a corner as suddenly the room was swarming with people. He knew that they should leave, but their exit was blocked by the people and equipment that had invaded the room.

He watched in horrified fascination as Gary's bed was laid flat and the rails lowered. All the while, someone continued squeezing the purple thing--obviously trying to pump air into Gary's lungs.

Gary lay limply through it all, his arms spread-eagled as nurses took his blood pressure and injected his IVs' with medication.

A woman in dark blue scrubs strode to the head of the bed, barking out questions, "How long has he been down? Who's his doctor? What's his diagnosis?" Grabbing a shiny metal piece of equipment from a red cart that had been wheeled into the room, she then nudged the nurse who was pumping the purple thing out of the way, and flexed Gary's neck back. She snapped the metal object open so that it resembled an L, and inserted it in Gary's mouth, using it to pull up his lower jaw.

Chuck almost gagged when he imagined what that would feel like. Miss Blue Scrubs reached out for a plastic tube that someone handed her, and stuck it in Gary's mouth. Apparently, she was having difficulty getting it to go where she wanted, as she maneuvered the tube back and forth several times.

"His heart rate is dropping, doctor."

Miss Blue Scrubs glanced up at the monitor, and pulled the tube out. "Shit! Bag him!"

The nurse placed the mask back on Gary's face and resumed squeezing the purple thing, or bagging Gary, as Chuck figured out. He couldn't believe nobody had noticed Marissa and him still in the room. He was afraid to say anything now as he didn't want to get in the way. Marissa's fingers were digging into his arm.

After a moment, Doc Blue Scrubs tried to again stick the tube down Gary's throat. She used a blue plastic device like a dentist used to suction Gary's mouth, and Chuck cringed when he saw the bloody looking stuff that was being sucked through the tubing. After clearing Gary's mouth, the doc placed the tube in his throat again. This time, apparently it went in without a hitch, and the purple bag was attached to the tube.

After several moments of watching the monitors and using a stethoscope to listen to Gary's chest, the doctor appeared satisfied. She turned to the nurse and said, "Let's get a vent set up." Chuck heard her rattle off some numbers, but he was no longer paying attention. Marissa was still in his arms, her eyes wide, her body shaking.

"Chuck? Is Gary...?" Marissa couldn't finish the sentence, and it took a Chuck a moment to realize what she was asking.

"Oh, God, Marissa! No! He's not-" Chuck couldn't bring himself to say it either. He gulped, and finished, "He's okay--I think. They stuck a tube in and are breathing for him."

Marissa let out a sob of relief, tears coursing unchecked down her face as she sagged against Chuck. He put his arms around her, "Hey, it's okay." He gave her a little squeeze. "Let's get out of here so that we aren't in the way."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Chuck paced the ICU waiting room. A nurse had told them that some tests needed to be done, but that so far, things were going well. Gary appeared to be doing much better now that the ventilator was helping him to breathe. Chuck took small comfort in that news. He still felt sick inside when he thought back to the scene in Gary's hospital room. Marissa had been quiet for the most part, only asking Chuck to guide her to the hospital chapel. He'd done so, standing in the back while Marissa sat in pew in the front of the tiny chapel.

He'd never been the religious type-even after Mrs. Danforth had given him the bible with the check inside. He'd said then that he was going to change--but other than moving to California- had he truly changed? Sure, he'd started his production company and maybe had given some people jobs, but in the process he'd abandoned Gary and a chance to do some real good right here in Chicago. Chuck wished, guiltily, that things had gone differently; that he had stayed here and helped Gary. He couldn't change the past, but he vowed to change the future.

Gary became aware of a gagging sensation in his throat. He started to sit up, his hand reaching towards his mouth, as his mind still fuzzy, he reflexively sought to remove the offending object.

"No, Gary. That's helping you to breathe."

Gary put his hand down. He vaguely recalled the doctor saying that it might become necessary to put a tube down into his lungs. He couldn't remember anyone doing it, though. He opened his eyes, recognizing the nurse as the one who had taken care of him a few days ago.

"Do you know where you are, Gary?"

Gary nodded and started to speak, but found that no sound came out. He remembered that feeling from the other time he'd had a tube put in. He felt a momentary panic and started to choke again.

"Whoa, take it easy. Don't fight it, Gary. Just let the machine do all the work, okay?"

Gary closed his eyes, battling the panic inside, willing himself not to gag. It was a strange feeling to have air forced into your lungs without making any effort.

When he had defeated his fear, he opened his eyes again. He made a motion with his hand as though he was writing.

The nurse understood at once, and produced a scrap of paper and a pen from her pocket. She grabbed a clipboard from a shelf for to Gary to write on.

Gary fumbled with the pen, but finally managed to scrawl 'How long?' on the piece of paper.

The nurse looked puzzled, "How long, what?"

Gary pointed to the tube.

"Has it been in?"

Gary shook his head no, then shrugged, frustrated.

"Oh, you want to know how long until it comes out?"

Gary nodded.

The nurse shook her head. "Sorry, Gary. That's not up to me, but probably a few days."

His shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes in dejection.

"Hey, don't look like that. How about if I let a few of your friends come in? They've been waiting all afternoon."

Gary's eyes snapped open.

"Do you feel up to seeing them?"

Gary nodded eagerly. If he'd had the energy to grin, he would have.

The nurse laughed. "Okay, hold on. I'll send them in just as soon as I change this IV solution."

Gary heard soft murmuring coming from somewhere near the bed. He realized that it he must have fallen asleep. He opened his eyes and turned his head, searching for the source of the whispering.

Chuck and Marissa were standing huddled at the end of his bed. Marissa looked terrible, Gary thought, puzzled. Her eyes were puffy and swollen. Had something happened to her mother?

His face drawn and tense, Chuck had his arm around Marissa in a comforting gesture, and was saying something in a quiet voice to her.

Gary shifted in bed, drawing their attention.

Chuck smiled and moved closer to the head of the bed, "Come on, Marissa, he's awake finally."

Marissa reached over the rails and found his hand. "Hello, Gary." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, which he returned. Marissa smiled, "I know you can't talk to me, and I can't see you, but I can tell that you're getting better, Gary. I can feel it."

Gary squeezed again to let her know that he heard her.

"Yeah, Gar, you're looking a lot better since they stuck that tube in. How are you feeling?"

Gary shrugged and nodded. He gently pulled his hand from Marissa's and made the writing motion again, hoping Chuck would be as astute as the nurse had been. The paper and clip board were no longer in sight.

Chuck appeared puzzled for a second, "Oh! You want something to write with?"

Gary patiently nodded.

Chuck searched until he found the paper and clipboard hanging on the rail on the opposite side of the bed. "There ya go, buddy."

Gary propped the clipboard on one bent knee. He wrote, "What's wrong with Marissa? Is her mom okay?" Gary showed Chuck the note, concerned that Marissa had come back to soon-that her mom still needed her.

Chuck glanced at Marissa, surprise on his face. "What's wrong with her? Gar, what's wrong is that several hours ago we were here when you stopped breathing. Watching, or hearing your best friend get a tube stuck down his throat can be pretty upsetting, ya know?"

Gary shook his head, confused. He scribbled another note. "Here in the room?" He frowned at his handwriting. It was barely legible, but it was the best he could do for now.

Nodding, his face grim, Chuck shuddered, "Yeah, buddy. I hope I never have to see something like that again."

"It was horrible, Gary. We were so worried." Marissa's voice wavered, and tears shimmered in her eyes.

Gary laboriously wrote another note, "I'm sorry." He leaned back and shut his eyes. Embarrassment and sorrow flooding through him at having put his friends through so much. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes to find Chuck standing over him, his face full of emotion.

"Gar, you have nothing to be sorry about. I'm the one who's sorry for not being here. That's going to change, though, 'cause from now on I'm right here." Chuck pointed emphatically to the ground. "I'll do whatever you or the paper needs me to do."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"I can't believe it. Look at this, Ellen." A nurse's aide held a newspaper up for the nurse to see. "Every day I've been on, he's had a paper on the bed. You'd better have a talk with the volunteer who delivers them. I didn't even know that they were allowed to come in to the ICU." The aide put the paper on a shelf behind some supplies, pulling out old newspapers and tossing them in the garbage. Shaking her head, she said, "Looks like I'm not the only one finding them."

Gary opened his eyes, his attention caught by the mention of the word 'newspaper'. He watched anxiously as the aid put the paper on the shelf. So that was where they had been going to.

Ellen frowned, "That's strange. I've never seen the paper guy come by, but maybe he comes through when we're in report. I'll have a talk with the nursing supervisor. He's a sweet old man, but I don't like the idea of people coming by disturbing my patients.

Uh-oh, Gary thought, hoping that the innocent volunteer didn't get in trouble. He pushed the bed controls, moving the head of the bed up as far as the tubing connected to the ventilator would allow. He wanted to attract the nurse's attention to clear up the confusion. The slight re-positioning of the tube, however, caused him to gag and choke, setting off alarms on the ventilator. Well, that was one way to get the nurse's attention, he thought wryly, when he was finally able to breathe calmly, and the alarms had silenced.

"Morning, Gary. How are you feeling today?"

Gary nodded impatiently, and snatched his clipboard off the bedside table. He wrote quickly, before the nurse walked away, 'I asked for the paper to be delivered every day.' He held the note up for the nurse to see.

She cocked her head to the side, "You did?"

Gary nodded, wondering if anyone had ever noticed the date on the papers.

"Well, okay, Gary. Do you want the one that came today? Do you feel like reading?"

Gary scribbled furiously, underlining the two words for emphasis, 'Yes. Please.'

Laughing, the nurse grabbed the paper off the shelf with hardly a glance, and handed it to Gary. "Here you go. I'm glad to see you feeling well enough to read it."

Trying his best to smile around the tube, Gary eagerly took the paper and started leafing through it. He hadn't known it until now when he finally had the paper back in his hands, but the last several days, when he'd been alert enough to think clearly, he'd had a vague sensation that something had been missing. Now, he felt complete.

He couldn't wait for Chuck and Marissa to visit.

"Hey, Marissa, he's looking good." Chuck grinned when they entered Gary's room. It was good to see Gary sitting up in bed, his face alert and his eyes bright. Well, at least brighter than they had been a few days before though he was still a far cry from being healthy.

Marissa smiled, "Does he still have the tube in?"

Gary face fell slightly, his eyes meeting Chuck's in a silent plea to put a good spin on things. "Um, yeah, Marissa. He still has the tube in, but he's wide awake and grinning."

At that, Gary did grin, or at least tried to. His eyes danced as he held the paper up for Chuck to see.

"Is that--?" Chuck grabbed the paper out of Gary's hand and checked the date. "Oh, my God."

"What? Is something wrong?" Marissa stiffened, her face frozen in fear.

Gary's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head, reaching for Marissa's hand on the bed rail. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Chuck glanced up from the paper in confusion, "Huh? Oh, no Marissa. It's nothing bad. Gary just handed me the paper."

Marissa sagged in relief, then a smile spread slowly across her face. "Tomorrow's paper?"

"Yeah. I wonder where it's been going, Gar?" Chuck looked to Gary, puzzlement on his features.

Gary jotted down the answer and pointed to the shelf.

"You gotta be kidding? It's been here all along?" Chuck sounded slightly miffed. "I thought it would come to your place, but I hadn't seen it."

"The paper's been coming to the hospital?" Marissa's face took on an amused expression. "I can't believe the paper would come here when Chuck's been staying at your place, Gary." She shook her head, trying to stifle a grin, "But, then I guess the cat knows best."

"Hey, I resent that! I'll show you guys. Just wait. Until you're well enough to do it, Gar," Chuck rolled the paper up, and shook it in Gary's direction, "I'll do everything that you would do."

Gary smiled and nodded. He wrote another note, 'I'm counting on it.'

Chuck read the note out loud. "Ha! See, Marissa. Gary trusts me."

Marissa laughed, "It's not like he has a choice, Chuck."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"Got the paper, Gar?" Chuck grinned, practically bouncing towards Gary's hospital bed.

Gary eyed him dubiously and withdrew the paper from under his pillow. "Yeah. Hold on. I've got it right here." He held it out, but then pulled it back slightly. The last few days, Chuck hadn't returned the paper in the evening, though he swore he had done everything that he was supposed to-and nothing that he wasn't supposed to. Gary could only take his word for it.

"You're not gonna do anything with it that I wouldn't do, are ya?"

Chuck withdrew his outstretched hand, and slumped comically, "Hey, I'm hurt, buddy." He rubbed his chest as though it pained him. "I'll be a regular Boy Scout with the information. I swear." He reached for the paper, his fingers moving in a 'give me' motion.

Looking from the paper to Chuck and back again to the paper, Gary finally, reluctantly, handed it over. He hoped he wouldn't be sorry. He knew that he should have made a list of things to be done. Why did it feel like he was handing the keys to the hen house to the fox for safekeeping? "I've...I've read most of it, so I'll know what's going on, Chuck."

"You're worrying too much." Chuck looked ready to salivate-like a dog with a juicy bone-as he leafed through the paper. "You're not gonna be sorry, Gar. You'll see. I can do this." He glanced up long enough to shoot Gary a wide grin

"Hmmm" Gary grunted. Chuck was being entirely too helpful. Something was up. "What's the deal, Chuck? Why all this..." Gary gestured towards the paper, "...interest in helping people all of a sudden?"

"I promised you, remember? I said that I would help out with whatever you needed."

Chuck's expression seemed sincere, and remembering how Chuck had sat by his bedside until he'd been out of the woods, Gary felt guilty for ever doubting him. Gary acknowledged Chuck with a short nod of his head. "Right. Well, I guess you better get going, then. There's going to be a bank robbery at nine- thirty on the north side."

Chuck gave a playful salute. "Yes, sir. I'm off."

* * *

Smiling in spite of himself as Chuck's strode jauntily out of the room, Gary ignored his misgivings. Chuck would do a great job. Just dandy.

Chuck glanced up at the sign on the building. Okay, he had the correct bank, now to figure out how to prevent the robbery. What would Gary do in this situation? Maybe he should have asked.  
Pursing his mouth to the side, Chuck thought hard. The paper said that the robber implied that he had a gun, but that the teller had never actually seen it. It was probably a bluff. Chuck nodded. Yeah, just a bluff, he concluded before strolling into the bank.

He scoped the lobby looking for someone acting suspiciously. There! A man in line kept checking his watch and putting his hand in his jacket pocket! Probably nerves, Chuck thought gleefully as he crossed the lobby to stand behind the man. He tried to hide a grin. The man had better be nervous, 'cause Charles Fishman had the drop on him.

Just before it was the man's turn to go to a teller, Chuck tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

The man turned, "Yes?"

Chuck cleared his throat, and in his deepest, most authoritative voice said, "Don't even think about it, Jack!"

The man pulled back, startled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Pointing with his chin, Chuck whispered loudly, "I know what you're doing here. I know all about it."

The man shook his head with disgust and took his turn in front of the teller.

Just as Chuck was about to shout a warning, there was a commotion three booths away from where Chuck stood. A different man was raising his voice, "Give me the money, and no one will get hurt!"

"Shit!" Chuck said under his breath. He'd had the wrong guy pegged.

The robber had his hand in his right pocket, the outline of something long and cylindrical evident through the material.

Chuck took a step forward, yelling, "It's a bluff!"

The robber whirled, his expression incredulous. "Who the fuck are you!" He pulled a gun from his pocket and aimed it at Chuck, then holding the gun steady, he grabbed the bag of cash that the teller handed over and dashed towards the exit.

Chuck stood frozen, eyes wide, sure that at any moment he would be shot. Fortunately for him, the gunman was more concerned with escape than shooting him.

As the robber fled the bank, Chuck's knees buckled, and he found himself tangled in a red velvet rope that formed the barrier for the teller line. Someone reached down and pulled him to his feet. Chuck looked up to thank the man, and was speechless as he met the slightly amused eyes of the guy he'd accused first.

"Are you okay?"

Chuck nodded mutely.

The man pulled a cell phone from his pocket, and used it to call his office. Chuck cringed, feeling like an idiot as the heard the man's end of the conversation.

"Yes, Brenda, tell the mayor that I'll be a few minutes late to our meeting. Give him my apologies please, and explain to him that I was caught in a bank robbery."

* * *

As soon as the police were done questioning everyone, Chuck slunk away. He pulled the paper out. The bank robbery story hadn't changed one iota. He sighed. Gary was not going to be happy.

"Oh no!" Chuck shook his head and held his hands up. "I am not going to stop a port-a-potty from being blown up. I have to draw the line somewhere, Gar."

Gary sat forward on the couch. It was his first day home, and all he wanted to do was crawl in his own bed and sleep. But, first, there was the little matter of the port-a-potty. "Chuck, there's an old man in there when it explodes. You gotta stop it." Gary held the paper up to show Chuck the picture. The commode was blackened near the top, with its whole roof blown off. "Look, Chuck. That...that old man suffers damage to his hearing and--"

"Okay, fine. I'll do it. Just give me the paper," Chuck sighed with exasperation.

"Sorry, but why don't I keep the paper this time? I made a list for you, instead."

"A list? You made a list? What? You don't trust me?"

Gary cleared his throat and looked away, "Well, not exactly, but the last few days you haven't given the paper back in the evening, and well-"

"You don't believe I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing? Is that it?" Chuck crossed his arms, daring Gary to contradict him.

"Umm," Gary finally nodded reluctantly, "that's about it, in a nutshell, Chuck."

"Hey, I goofed up one lousy save and you're gonna hold it over my head forever aren't you?" Chuck shook his head, his expression bitter. "And I suppose you've never screwed up a rescue?"

Guiltily, Gary conceded that Chuck was right to be angry. It had only been one minor bank robbery that Chuck had blown. No one was hurt, just a little money was taken. Gary handed over the paper. "You're right, Chuck. Here. But you've got to promise that you'll do the port-a-potty save."

Chuck rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I'll do it."

Gary roused to the most noxious odor he could imagine. What the hell was that? Had the plumbing backed up? His nose twitched, then he felt something cold and slimy drip onto his hand. His eyes flew open to meet Chuck's angry glare. He was standing beside the bed, little globs of goo splattered all over him. Gary wasn't sure, but he thought that there was a piece of soggy toilet paper hanging from Chuck's ear. Gary bolted up in bed, "Wh-what happened to you?"

Chuck stood silently for several long seconds, eyes shooting daggers, then finally spoke in a clipped tone. "I rescued the old geezer in the john."

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Gary scrambled out of bed, careful not to come in contact with any part of Chuck's anatomy. "But...but how-" Gary began, wrinkling his nose and gesturing to Chuck's appearance. Was that steam rising from some of the mucky ooze? Gary's shoulders heaved as he strove to contain his mirth.

"I was running a little late," Chuck started, eyes narrowing, "and I didn't get there in time to stop the old man from entering the john."

"You were late?"

"Well, yeah. There was a festival in Grant Park, and do you know how many port-a-potties were set up? Dozens, Gary. I had to search toilets for fifteen minutes until I was sure I had the right one. And I only found that because at the last second, I saw the old timer enter it."

Gary gulped, trying unsuccessfully to swallow a grin.

"Quit your smirking."

Gary cleared his throat, making a weak attempt to erase the impending grin. "Uh, sorry."

The stench was becoming overpowering, and Gary hurried to open a window. Eyes watering, he leaned out, gratefully gulping in the fresh air. He pulled his head back in, and turning, found Chuck standing so close that Gary could make out individual shades of brown gunk that decorated Chuck's face and clothing. He jumped back, bumping his head on the window in his haste to put as much distance between him and Chuck. "Umm, could you back off a little bit?" Gary waved his hand in front of his face, coughing slightly.

Chuck ignored the request. "So, I'm standing there. I see the man hobble into the commode, and I head towards the toilet hoping that I'll spot anyone who seems to be hanging around with explosives in their hands."

"And?" Gary encouraged.

"And I notice a couple of teens goofing around and looking really sneaky. I guess he didn't fasten the lock properly because before I had a chance to say anything, they open the old man's door a crack, and toss in an M-250. I ran up as fast as I could, and yanked the door wide open. I grabbed the guy's arm and flung him out of the port-a-potty."

Chuck paused, the corners of his mouth turning up into a slight smile. "I'll never forget the startled expression on his face as he came tumbling out with his pants around his ankles." Chuck shook his head, attempting to regain his former indignant anger, "Then, just after the old man was safely on the ground, the firecracker exploded."

Chuck paused, leveling a thoroughly revolted glare at Gary, "Gar, I never saw so much shit fly."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Gary flipped though the channels. Talk shows, soaps, and a couple of game shows-nothing that captured his interest. He pushed the "off" button and tossed the remote on the coffee table. This enforced idleness was driving him nuts. He was going stir-crazy. He picked up the newspaper, searching for anything more that needed to be done.

"Ah ha!" Gary leaned forward, reading the tiny little blurb out loud. "A small fire in the kitchen of Lucy's Diner caused a lunchtime commotion yesterday. The fire was caused by a worker who accidentally set a stack of napkins too close the grill. The diner was forced to close for several hours, but was able to open in time for the dinner crowd."

Gary picked up the phone and hit the first speed dial button. "Hey, Chuck? How'd you know it was me?" Gary grabbed a pencil and circled the article. "Yeah, well, anyway-I found another one for you." He paused and winced, pulling the phone away from his ear. He shook his head and gingerly placed the receiver next to his ear again. "What do you mean, no?" Gary scratched his head, "It's just a small fire in a diner--ah--no, nobody gets hurt but-"

Gary stared at the dead phone in his hand. "Yeah, well you're the one who said you'd stick around and help out, buddy," Gary said to the phone as he slammed it down.

It had been nine days since Gary's release from the hospital. The first few days had been rough. He'd been so tired that just walking to and from the bathroom wore him out. Taking a shower expended so much energy that he'd needed a two hour nap after taking one. Slowly, though, his strength was returning. The last couple of days he had spent time in the office downstairs trying to help Marissa get caught up on some of the paperwork. Tonight he planned to tend bar for a few hours to give Crumb a break. He grinned at the thought; he could hardly wait. He'd finally be back among the living.

Gary looked around the loft and decided that it needed a good cleaning. With Chuck staying with him until he found a new place, the small apartment felt overcrowded with suitcases, shoes and newspapers scattered about.

Gary got to work, stacking old papers neatly, and tucking the suitcases under the bed. He lined the shoes up near the door, and was just collecting drinking glasses from the end-tables, when the door burst open. Gary looked up in surprise to see Chuck enter, slamming the door behind him.

"What are you doing back so soon?" he asked, puzzled. There was no way Chuck could have finished all the rescues that Gary had listed.

"I'm hungry! Is that okay, buddy? Doesn't the paper allow a person a chance to eat?"

Gary flinched at the venom in Chuck's tone. "Well, yeah, sometimes it does. But what about all the stuff on the list?"

Chuck stalked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a can of pop and some lunchmeat. "I edited the damn list."

Following Chuck into the kitchen, Gary reached into a drawer to retrieve a loaf of bread. He thrust it at Chuck. "You edited my list? But…but there are things on it that need to be done.

"Then you go do them. I'm eating." Chuck snatched the bread from Gary's hands and slapped a sandwich together. He grabbed a bag of chips off the counter and tucking it under his arm, took his lunch over to the couch.

Gary stood in stunned disbelief, then trailed Chuck to sofa, standing over him. "But what about your promise to help out? You didn't say, 'I'll help out only if it fits my schedule.' You said, 'Gary, I'll do whatever you need me to do, buddy.'"

Chuck looked up, guilt and something else flitting across his face. Resentment? Gary held out his hand. "Give me the list."

His mouth full, Chuck shrugged and reached into his shirt pocket, tossing the list onto the coffee table.

Gary slowly picked it up, noting the rescues that had been crossed off--and the ones that hadn't. "What about the teen that drowns at the North Ave. Beach?" Gary glanced at the clock. The drowning would take place in only thirty minutes.

"The kid was drunk, Gary. I'm supposed to risk my neck because he went swimming when he was totally blotto?" Chuck glared defiantly at Gary.

"So you'll just let him die?" Gary hastily stuck his feet into his shoes. "Never mind! I'll do it myself!" He seized the paper and rushed out the door ignoring Chuck's cries to wait for him. He'd be damned if he'd beg Chuck to save the kid, or worse, use guilt to force him to do what was right.

* * *

Gary decided to take McGinty's van. It would be faster, and hopefully he'd find a parking space. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, seething at Chuck's irresponsibility. How could he let a kid drown? It was one thing to ignore a small, harmless fire in a diner, another thing altogether to blow off someone losing their life.

Gary raced through traffic, weaving in and out and blaring his horn at taxis. Stuck at a stoplight, Gary ran his fingers through his hair, "Damn him!" He pounded his fist on the steering wheel, muttering, "Come on, light." When the light turned green, Gary gunned the engine, releasing his pent-up frustration.

What was Chuck's problem, anyway? Just because the paper had been especially busy, that didn't give him the right to take out his anger on an innocent kid. Gary remembered the article in the paper. Okay, maybe Jeremy Chapman wasn't totally innocent. The paper said that alcohol had been a factor in the drowning, but that didn't mean he should die because of it. He was only seventeen, for chrisake. He made a stupid mistake, that shouldn't mean that he should pay for it with his life.

Ten minutes later, Gary was at the beach. He had only five minutes to find the kid and prevent him from drowning.

Gary lurched through the sand, his feet sinking in the soft surface, feeling his energy being sapped by the effort. "Jeremy! Jeremy Chapman!" he called loudly. The beach was crowded and most people ignored him. He made his way towards the water, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare as he scanned the surf. He squinted as he spotted a head bobbing about fifty feet from shore. There was something about the way the person was flailing his arms. Gary glanced around. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the swimmer. He started to turn away, convinced he had the wrong person.

Abruptly, the head dropped from sight.

"Shit!" Gary turned, searching for a lifeguard. He located one posted about forty yards away, but the guard was looking the other way, yelling at some kids to stop horsing around. He didn't notice Gary's frantic waving.

Gary caught the attention of some girls who were strolling nearby. "Hey! Go get the lifeguard! There's a kid drowning out there!" He pointed to the kid's head, which had popped back up momentarily only to go back under a second later.

The girls raced off towards the guard. Gary pulled out the paper. The article was still there. "Damn!" He hesitated for a brief moment, not sure if he was up to rescuing the teen himself but realized there was nothing else he could do. He tossed down the paper and hopped on alternate feet as he ripped off his shoes and then taking long running strides through the waves, he plunged into the water.

Gary swam as hard as he could towards the bobbing head. Frantic when he lost sight of the kid only a few feet from where he had last seen the him, Gary tread water, quickly turning in a circle as the tried to find the boy. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the surface, swimming down as far as he was able. Visibility was poor, and after only about twenty seconds, Gary was forced to come up for air. Cursing his inability to hold his breath any longer, Gary gasped. His lungs felt like they were on fire and dark spots swam in his vision. Sucking in another lung full of air, Gary submerged again. A flash of white just off to the left caught his eye and grabbed at it. He was rewarded with the feel of a cold hand in his.

He tugged on the hand as he kicked for the surface.

Gary coughed and sputtered as he pulled the boy up, finally able to maneuver the kid's head above water. Wrapping his arm around the boy's neck, Gary started towards shore, his arms and legs feeling like someone had poured lead into them. He choked on mouthful of water and almost went under. Laboriously side-stroking, his breath ragged, he slowly drew closer to the beach.

"Gary! Hang on, man!"

Gary turned onto his back, struggling to maintain his grip on the kid. He thought he heard someone calling to him, but the sound of his breathing and the water cascading over his head with every wave muffled the voice. He kicked his feet with the last of his strength, hoping the final surge would carry them to safety.

Suddenly, several pairs of arms were reaching towards him. He relaxed as he felt himself and his burden being pulled in, though he maintained his hold on the boy until he felt sand shifting under his back. He released the teen into waiting hands, and weakly turned over; retching water onto the sand.

Gary crawled a few feet up the beach, the water lapping at his ankles, and collapsed on his back, his breaths coming in great heaving gasps. Someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Hey Gar, you okay?"

Gary nodded without opening his eyes. What was Chuck doing here? He was supposed to be eating lunch. Gary started shivering, slowly at first, but then his whole body began trembling so hard he had to clench his jaws to keep his teeth from chattering.

"I need a blanket or towel here!" Chuck bellowed to somebody.

Gary struggled to sit up, pulling his knees towards his chest, arms locked around them and he rocked slowly back and forth, eyes tightly closed. A sun-warmed blanket was draped around his shoulders and he was sure that nothing had ever felt so good.

"I'm sorry, buddy."

Gary opened his eyes. Chuck was sitting next to him, his expression bleak. "It…it's ok-k-kay."

"No, it's not. I blew it." Chuck hung his head in dejection.

All around them chaos reigned as the lifeguards performed CPR on Jeremy Chapman.

There was a choking cough behind them, and Gary turned in time to see Jeremy begin to move and spit water out of his mouth. The teen opened his eyes and attempted to sit up.

Grinning at the sight, a new warmth spreading through Gary. "Don't worry about it, Chuck. It all turned out okay."

Chuck glanced at Jeremy, then dropped his head again. "Yeah, but only because of you." Chuck scuffed a toe in the sand, avoiding Gary's gaze. "I'm just not cut out for this sort of thing, Gar. Look at you-" Chuck finally turned, gesturing at Gary's bedraggled appearance, "you're sitting here cold, wet, and half drowned, and you're loving every minute of it."

A cough overtook Gary before he could reply and he winced at the lingering pain in his chest. "I'm not exactly loving it, Chuck."

Chuck snorted, then chuckled, "Maybe not the half-drowned part--but you do love saving people, Gary. It's what you live for."

Gary focused on bug crawling through the sand. "No, I don't. It's just something that I have to do."

"That's just it, Gary. It's something you have to do. Like other people need food and water. That's why you get the paper. Not me. Not anyone else. I'll never be like that no matter how hard I try."

"Yes, you could Chuck. If you really wanted--" Gary protested, knowing in his heart that Chuck was right.

Chuck picked up a small twig and started shredding it. "No, Gar. I think I first realized it when you were stuck in that movie theater and the paper went to your parents instead of me. I was never meant to be a part of this thing. You were. I've just been along for the ride."

Gary was silent, staring out at the water. He could feel what was coming next and his gut clenched.

"I can't stay here, Gar." Chuck cleared his throat, tossing the shredded stick into the surf, "I'm going back to L.A. next week. I hope you understand."

Gary opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. His throat had a lump in it the size of a ping pong ball. He swallowed hard, dropping his head. He wanted to rant and rave and beg Chuck to stay. He shuddered when he thought of the future ; the years ahead of him with no one to help share the burden. The loneliness. He pulled in a deep breath, finally lifting his head.

"I understand, Chuck." And Gary was surprised to find that he did understand. The paper had never been important to Chuck. It had been a lark, an adventure while it had lasted but one that Chuck was more than ready to put behind him. This was the way it was meant to be.

"If you ever really need me, though, just give me a holler, buddy."

Gary nodded, smiling. He knew that. "Yeah, Chuck. I will."

Chuck stood, offering Gary a hand and hauling him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you out of here."


End file.
